The world known as Xuanyin has finally been struck by its most cataclysmic disaster!
The woman’s hair was as dark as ink, and her skin was as smooth as ice and jade. Her simple white dress swayed in the night breeze, accentuating her graceful, upright figure and lending her a cool, otherworldly air. She showed no hostility. Instead, she lowered her head slightly and gave Chen Yun a neat, elegant salute.
“I am Su Yuehua. Greetings, fellow Daoist.”
Her voice rang clear as water over stones, carrying an indescribable calm. She looked up at Chen Yun, and a trace of hidden sadness flickered through her eyes, so faint it vanished in an instant.
Inside his sleeve, Chen Yun’s fingers had already settled discreetly on his magic treasure. He spoke coolly: “You’re a mighty late-stage Nascent Soul cultivator. Why go to the trouble of following me all the way out here into the wilderness? What do you want?”
“Please don’t take offense, fellow Daoist.” Su Yuehua inclined her head slightly, her tone calm and sincere. “I followed you without permission, but I mean no harm. I only wish to confirm something.”
