When dusk spread over the eaves of Qingya Academy, Shen Zhaoxue was practicing his sword.
The cold iron sword cut through the setting sun, and the white jade pendant on the sword tassel made a clear sound. The broken hair on her forehead was soaked with sweat, and she caught a glimpse of the figure leaning on the corridor from the corner of her eye - Xie Mingxiao tilted his head and bit into half a piece of sweet-scented osmanthus cake. His black clothes were hanging on the bluestone steps, and the silver crown in his hair reflected the sunset, which was more dazzling than the snack in his hand.
