Everyone turned toward the voice and saw three people enter. The man in the middle was tall and well built, with regular features and magnificent clothes that exuded nobility. On his left stood a foreign monk in a red kasaya, thin, with a high nose and deep-set eyes. His expression was blank, his features as stiff and cold as a marble sculpture. On the right was a young foreign woman with malt-brown skin and delicate features, her hair covered in little braids. Her slightly raised chin gave her a distinctly arrogant air.
The man in the middle was the one who had just spoken.
The foreign girl glanced at the burly man, then fixed her gaze on Zhao Wusheng. Suddenly, she pushed off with her toes and darted toward him like a wisp of smoke. Before she reached him, the scimitar at her waist had already left its sheath, becoming a haze of light. With a strange, piercing shriek, the blade tore through the air and slashed toward Zhao Wusheng's neck. The speed and ruthlessness of her attack already placed her among first-rate blade wielders.
Hu Xiaotian was startled as well. He had not expected the foreign girl to attack so decisively and viciously. Judging from her movements, she must have received instruction from an accomplished master.
Zhao Wusheng remained calm in the face of danger, but he no longer dared take her lightly. Twisting to the right, he drew the saber at his waist and blocked her slash with a backhand stroke. Yet the instant their blades crossed, his long saber snapped in two. The girl wielded a precious blade that sliced through iron as though it were mud.
Zhao Wusheng hastily retreated, but the foreign girl swept another slash toward him. He thrust the broken edge of his