Zhunti.
No, more accurately—
The Bodhi Daoist martial uncle Zhunti had transformed into.
But the Bodhi Daoist before her was practically a different person from the one in her memories.
His hair was still black as ink, but instead of being neatly tied into a Daoist topknot, it hung loosely over his shoulders. A few stray strands fell across his forehead, swaying gently in the night breeze.
A dark red feather hairpin was tucked beside his right temple. The tip of the feather trembled slightly, gleaming with an alluring sheen beneath the dim yellow light.
His amber eyes had become dark brown, yet the light within them was deeper than before, like hidden undercurrents beneath a deep pool—calm on the surface, turbulent below.
His robe had changed from plain white to black and red, its collar hanging wide open to reveal his lean collarbones and much of his chest. Against the dark crimson fabric, his skin looked almost translucent.
The fabric was thin and shifted faintly with his movements, vaguely revealing the contours of the muscles beneath.
A broad black belt cinched his waist, its buckle fashioned from the skull of some unknown beast. The silver-white bone had been polished smooth as a mirror and set with dark red gemstones.
His entire person exuded a bewitching, resplendent beauty, like a Manjusaka blooming on the far bank of the Yellow Springs—gorgeous, lethal, impossible to look away from.
It was like the same person had been handed two completely different scripts.
Last time, he had been an otherworldly master with an ethereal air. This time, he was a seductive, enchanting beauty. The contrast was so great that Su Miao wondered whether Zhunti was putting on some kind of "Hundred-Change Master Show."
And he was even smiling as gently as water. The contrast