After an unknown length of time, Meng Zhao finally returned from the endless military tents. He saw Jiang Zixuan and Hua Xin standing off to one side like quails, cautious and timid. Before them stood a stunningly beautiful woman draped in gauze, dressed in a particularly eye-catching and alluring manner.
Yes, this woman was beautiful—very, very beautiful. Her features were exquisite, her face lovely and well-proportioned. The impact of her beauty was enough to seize one's soul.
Of course, Meng Zhao did not care about her manner of dress, nor was he particularly concerned by her incomparable beauty. But the faint, elusive pressure she gave him forced him to treat her with due seriousness.
Meng Zhao did not immediately flee. He approached at an unhurried pace, glanced at the woman, and held the War Sword in his hand angled toward the ground, his guard raised as he asked, "Who might you be?"
Truthfully, even with Meng Zhao's current breadth of vision, keen insight, and experience, he could not quite make sense of this woman's sudden appearance.
At the very least, he was certain of one thing: she had not arrived with him. After all, the Heavenly Demon Palace Lord's group had all been rough old men—not a single woman among them, much less one dressed so revealingly.
Moreover, Jiang Zixuan and Hua Xin stood nearby with helpless yet exceedingly respectful expressions. This gave Meng Zhao an idea. Could she be some top expert from the south?
The woman, too, looked at Meng Zhao in some surprise. A faint smile played on her lips. Her aggressively beautiful face now seemed like warm spring sunlight, bright and gentle. "You may call me Aunt Hong. Like you, I came to explore this battlefield. I discovered these two and deliberately waited here for you."