The Old Man

The sky darkened quickly.

After the wine had gone to her head a little, Shi Lan set down her jar and rose to leave the camp. A light drink lifted the spirits; a heavy one wounded the heart.

Besides, she was in no mood to drink herself into oblivion.

As soon as she stepped out of camp, Shi Lan spotted Lü Anqing standing at the entrance to the women's camp.

Lü Anqing leaned against a stone post. The black mask on her face looked even more eerie in the distant firelight, and a chilly air that kept people at arm's length radiated from her, as if shutting out the bonfire and laughter behind her.

"Centurion."

Shi Lan hesitated, then stepped forward to greet her.

"..."

Lü Anqing remained silent for a while before slowly nodding.

Shi Lan felt a little awkward. She wasn't much of a talker, and for some reason, she often had a knack for killing a conversation. Lü Anqing's cool response left her with nothing more to say.

For a moment, silence settled between them.

Lü Anqing lowered her eyes. Her lashes cast a shadow over the one visible peach-blossom eye, making her look somewhat forlorn.

Shi Lan glanced at the lively camp behind Lü Anqing, and understanding flashed in her eyes.

"Centurion, don't you like a lively crowd?"

"No." Lü Anqing shook her head and glanced at the camp across from them, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice as she gradually began to say more. "I have to keep an eye on those people over there, in case they drink too much and get stupid, making things awkward for everyone. When men are ruled by their lower halves, they have no brains."

Martial artists, especially those below the Xiantian Realm, had vigorous blood and