Chen Lingxi still wore the ghost-face mask, his true features concealed.
Yet Lin Suri had called him by name with perfect certainty, not as a guess, but as a fact.
That voice descended from the roof ridge and fell into Chen Lingxi's ears.
Chen Lingxi remained seated amid the ruined walls and broken rubble, his right hand resting on the hilt of the saber at his waist.
Lin Suri's black brocade robe fluttered faintly in the night wind as he watched Chen Lingxi.
Chen Lingxi did not answer.
The ghost-face mask covered his face. Its blue visage and fanged patterns gleamed with a cold, ghostly light beneath the moon, while the shadows of its fangs fell across his jaw, making the lower half of his face seem all the more hard and stern.
Lin Suri did not speak again either.
The two simply faced one another.
One stood upon the roof ridge with his hands behind his back, robes snapping in the wind.
The other sat before the ruined house, hand on his saber, motionless and straight-backed.
Only the wind remained in Willow Street Alley.
That ninety-foot willow tree stood not far away, its countless branches swaying softly in the night breeze.
After several breaths, Lin Suri suddenly narrowed his eyes and finally spoke.
"I can see through your mask, yet I cannot see through your cultivation."
Lin Suri paused, and an extremely faint glimmer passed through his eyes.
"I had thought you were at least a cultivator of the Qi Circulation Fifth Floor."
"But I followed behind you, and you never noticed me, even when I deliberately revealed a few traces."
Chen Lingxi's pupils contracted slightly.
He truly had not noticed.
All along the way, he had concealed his edge and restrained his presence, traveling with utmost caution, yet