Seeing someone standing beneath the porcelain tower, Shen Le hurried forward. As he walked briskly, he reined in his spiritual power. Earlier, he had used it to sense the layout of the entire park, but now that he could see the person in front of him, probing them face-to-face would be rather impolite. Besides, there was no need to probe this person at all:
The spiritual energy fluctuations around him were practically glowing with a halo!
What was more, even a non-cultivator could tell with the naked eye that this man was extraordinary. He was slender and tall; even if he stood among top models on a runway, he would not lose out to any of them:
His complexion was fair—not the kind of whiteness commonly praised in China, nor the cool pale skin of Scandinavians, but a cold, hard whiteness that nonetheless seemed to flow with luster.
As Shen Le drew nearer step by step, he saw sunlight fall across the man's face and hands, rippling into a faint halo. Without realizing it, it seemed as though a rainbow was drifting across him.
It was exactly like the refraction Shen Le had seen in the museum, when a translucent white porcelain cup was placed under intense light.
As he got closer, he saw even more clearly. The man wore a long, open-fronted white robe, thin and delicate as smoke or mist, seemingly made from the finest gauze;
yet the wind in the park was quite strong that day, tossing Shen Le's fringe about, while not even the hem of the other man's robe stirred in the air.
There was no doubt about it. This was the thousand-year-old Porcelain Demon, Jingdezhen's local overlord. Any porcelain kiln that wanted to fire something good had to offer him tribute—or it truly would