Against the blue sky, a gigantic fan tore through the clouds, flying steadily onward.
Two figures stood on the fan, one before the other.
The person in front stood tall and straight, a goose-yellow fitted outfit outlining a slender waist and long legs.
The one behind wore a simple blue-gray cloth robe, hands clasped behind his back.
They were Jiang Fu'an and Wang Zhiyue.
At that moment, Wang Zhiyue, who stood ahead, slightly turned her face, her voice carried back on the wind. "Fellow Daoist Jiang, come a little closer and hold on to me. I'm about to speed up!"
Hold on to her—
Jiang Fu'an's gaze fell upon her back, slowly traveling from top to bottom.
The lines of her exposed shoulder and neck were smooth, gleaming porcelain-white beneath the sunlight;
Her waist was cinched by a sash, making it seem especially slender.
For a moment, he did not know where it would be proper to place his hand.
While he hesitated, Wang Zhiyue suddenly reached back and grabbed his wrist, guiding his arm forward.
She steadily pressed his hand against the side of her waist.
Her movements were crisp and decisive, without the slightest trace of coyness in her voice:
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"We are all cultivators. There is no need to fuss over such details."
If it had merely been sharing a flying artifact, Jiang Fu'an might have believed those words about not fussing over details.
But now, separated only by a thin layer of cloth, his palm clearly felt the warmth of her skin beneath and the supple curve of her waist.
There was no way he could believe her when she said not to fuss over details.
He had known Wang Zhiyue for more than ten years. Aside from those rumors from their early days, which Ma