Martial Uncle Hong Ling's figure drifted like flowing clouds to the front of the magnificent hall before the mountain gate. Without pausing at all, she strode straight inside.
The moment the hall doors slowly closed behind her, a blue-clad figure hurried over from within.
A disciple wearing the standard robes of the Nascent Soul Realm cupped both hands and bowed, his tone respectful yet tinged with awkwardness.
"Disciple pays respects to Martial Ancestor Uncle Hong Ling..."
Martial Uncle Hong Ling raised her jade hand and made a gesture to dispense with the formalities, her cool voice carrying a trace of urgency.
"Where is the person who came looking for me..."
"Martial Ancestor Uncle, please follow me..."
The disciple did not dare say more. She stepped aside to lead the way, walking briskly toward the rear of the hall.
After passing through several corridors with carved beams and painted rafters, the two entered a lavishly furnished reception hall.
Warm jade covered the floor, and immortal mist curled through the air. Zhang Xuemo was slouching boredly against a cloud-patterned soft couch, idly rolling a jade ruyi between her fingertips.
When she saw Martial Uncle Hong Ling arrive, her eyes immediately lit up, and she hurriedly stood to straighten her robes.
The two had known each other for years. They had hit it off at first sight during a Dao assembly, then ventured together into an exceedingly dangerous secret realm, forging a life-and-death friendship amid the border between life and death.
Their temperaments matched perfectly. Whenever they discussed cultivation insights and interesting happenings throughout the world, they always had endless things to say, and within a few days they had become bosom friends who could speak about anything.
Later, Zhang Xuemo returned to her sect, the Polar Sword Pavilion. Though the two were