That year, Nalan Taxue leaned against the railing, softly reciting, “Blue clouds fill the sky, yellow leaves cover the earth; autumn colors ripple into the distance, and cold emerald mist drifts over the waves.” His smile had not yet faded when a broken sword appeared before his eyes. The woman holding it was so beautiful and graceful, but a hideous scar ran from her forehead to the corner of her eye. She stared steadily at him and said, “If you’re this rude again, you may not be so lucky next time...”
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. . . Why don't you write it? . . Very well written. . .