It was the figure of an exquisitely beautiful young woman, her childishness already shed. Like an epiphyllum blooming for the first time beneath the clear radiance of the bright moon, she was cold and hazy, yet possessed a beauty of overwhelming, soul-stirring force.
In the eyes of most high-ranking cultivators, beauty was there for the taking and hardly worth mentioning.
There were countless things in this world more valuable than beauty.
Cultivation, Dao Methods, fame and profit, power, status... all were more intoxicating than a pretty face.
That was because the world had never seen true beauty.
True beauty—pure beauty that transcended reason, enough to crush one's mental defenses, devour one's heart, and seize one's soul.
A single glance was enough for one's mind and spirit to fall completely.
It could even make one feel ashamed of one's own inferiority.
Within the great hall, the sect masters and elders, all profound in cultivation, exchanged glances, shock in their eyes.
Their cultivation was deep, yet caught off guard, even their hearts could not help but skip a beat.
The men were like this.
The women were even worse.
It was an instinct that seemed to come from the bloodline itself, something they simply could not resist.
Duanmu Qing looked at that figure, with skin like ice and bones like jade, graceful as a celestial being and beautiful as the clear moon. She felt a yearning in her heart, along with a frightened sense of loss. Desire, rich as fine wine, filled every drop of her blood and marrow, flowing throughout her body with her meridians.
She even found herself thinking that if such a peerlessly beautiful celestial being were to spend a night entwined with her—no, even if she merely kissed her, or merely looked upon her once—then even if she