Tang Feng took a deep breath, set down his teacup, and looked conflicted.
After a long silence, he finally said, "You should know that I had no intention of killing you just now... I just didn't know you had become like this."
Wang Xian sat with his back perfectly straight, like a sharp sword drawn from its sheath.
His face was covered in black cloth, leaving little expression visible, yet the corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile.
"I know."
Wang Xian lifted the teacup before him and took a sip. Slowly, he replied, "It's all right. I'm gradually getting used to it."
His tone was calm when he said this, as calm as if he were saying that the flowers in the garden were about to wither.
Tang Feng stared at him for a long while before finally letting out a long breath. A genuine smile appeared on his face.
He laughed. "It seems you didn't lie to me!"
In Tang Feng's eyes, Wang Xian was not someone who would deign to lie.
Besides, no matter who encountered Wang Xian's current circumstances, they probably would not be able to get angry.
A cultivator had first lost his sight, then his sense of taste.
In such a state, even if a beauty of peerless grace and devastating loveliness sat before him, he probably would have no interest.
Tang Feng was a swordsman. He understood better than anyone what losing those two senses meant to a cultivator.
If one could not see, one could still use divine sense to perceive heaven and earth. But once the sense of taste was gone, it was as though a door in one's life had shut forever, never to be opened again.
Tea was no longer tea, and wine was no longer wine.