Jeff slowly squatted down, touching the mysterious runes.
Those were the same "clock" symbols Mo Ling had seen earlier.
Jeff's fingers slowly traced the engraved marks, as if he were trying to move the pendulum of a clock.
But he couldn't budge the rigid carvings in the slightest. The clock was frozen at that one moment.
The Little Fish, of course, did not start to swim. It just lay there, motionless.
Weariness and despair etched Jeff's face. His gaze seemed to pierce through the clock, seeing the hopeless future of the Fishman Race.
Just then, a faint beam of moonlight shone on the center of the clock, illuminating the lifelike Little Fish.
Jeff's hand, which was resting on the Little Fish, froze.
The moonlight also fell upon his hand, filtering through the gaps between his fingers and onto the clock.
Specks of light seeped into the deep carvings, and a faint, white-dotted mist slowly drifted out from within.
