A little river flowed through the Sky-Blasting Gang's grounds, neither particularly deep nor particularly shallow, fed by mountain springs. In its narrow stretches, it murmured over its bed, and a few stones laid across it were enough to let people cross on foot; in its wider stretches, it resembled a deep pool, crystalline green and clear to the bottom, with willow fronds swaying over both banks and lush grass carpeting the ground.
Whenever a cool breeze brushed low across the water, a long, narrow strip of silver foil appeared on its surface, vanishing almost at once.
The river's spring waters remained a clear blue, transparent to the bottom. The spring-clad mountains on either bank still greeted visitors with graceful charm. Every bend in the blue-green river brought clusters of reeds and scattered villages that dotted the scenery. Sitting in the wooden boat, one needed only to raise one's head to be greeted by the green leaves of Chinese tallow trees along the banks and verdant mountains that seemed to brush the sky.
Ripples spread across the water, where a small boat drifted with three people seated aboard.
The man at their head had deep, pitch-black eyes, at once tender and aloof, and a high, straight nose. He wore white brocade robes and held a white folding fan, with a golden belt around his waist and black boots on his feet. An egg-sized jade ornament hung behind his boots. His strength was unfathomable, his manner gentle and refined; he was the very embodiment of perfection. Coupled with the captivating air of a king that radiated from him, it made people reluctant to turn their eyes from his face.
Across the entire world, only Yang Ming possessed such a bearing.
The man seated to Yang Ming's left had a burly, six-foot frame