Zhang Yiran's heart gave a sudden jolt. He told Lin Xiaosu softly, "I know this woman! She is the daughter of the valley master of Cold Moon Valley, named Han Yan. Her cultivation talent is truly legendary. Heavenly Capital took notice of her, and she is now ranked second among Heavenly Capital's Twelve Saintesses."
Even Zhang Yiran knew her identity and background.
Who among Ning City's cultivators did not?
The restaurant immediately buzzed with discussion. "What is Han Yan doing?"
"She said she was won over by Lord Su's bearing and wanted to present him with a poem."
"Is that possible? Lord Su has come south to Jiangnan and is currently in Huzhou. Next comes either Ze Prefecture or Dingzhou. If he chooses Ze Prefecture, Cold Moon Valley will bear the brunt. Could she really be welcoming Lord Su?"
On the raised platform, Lin Xiaosu lifted his hand slightly and gently waved a folding fan in his palm. The wind and rain drifting toward him seemed to gain a few shades of color, yet his voice remained calm. "Miss Han wishes to present this official with a poem?"
"Yes!"
"Please!" Lin Xiaosu said.
Han Yan stepped forward and stood atop the Immortal Melody House with a zither in her arms. Beneath the hazy drizzle, she resembled a flower in full bloom. Her gaze fell upon him, and she recited in a lilting voice, "Amid falling flowers, a figure stands alone; Jiangnan's rain weaves its own mist. If the north wind knows better, it will not cross West Moon Lake."
One poem, twenty characters.
It seemed to paint an exquisite tableau of the mortal world.
This beauty stood in the rain like an immortal maiden.
Countless scholars and poets in the restaurant were moved by her grace.
"'Amid falling flowers, a