The autumn wind blew through the Qingyan Sect's martial arts performance ground.
The wind carried a bleak smell, rolling up a few dry leaves, swirling on the bluestone, and finally stopped at the feet of Lu Qingya.
He just stood there, like a withered grass that had been drained of all its moisture. The noise around him was buzzing, like a swarm of frightened bees, all swooping down on him.
"Look, it's him. Lu Qingya."
"The genius of our sect three years ago, now... Tsk tsk."
"Waste Spiritual Root, third level Qi refining, I really don't know he still has the nerve to stay in the sect."
"If it were me, I would have crashed to death on Zhuxie Cliff a long time ago."
These voices were sharp and mean, like countless invisible needles pricking his skin. Lu Qingya didn't move. He just looked ahead quietly. His eyes were very calm, like a deep old well, reflecting no waves.
The crowd suddenly fell silent for a moment.
They automatically parted ways.
Liu Qingyao walked out of that road.
She was wearing a moon-white inner sect disciple's robe, with delicate flowing cloud patterns embroidered with silver thread on the corners and cuffs. There is a soft azure belt around the waist, with a warm jade pendant hanging on it. Her long hair was tied up with a simple wooden hairpin, and a few strands of hair were blown by the wind and brushed her fair cheeks.
