Xue Chuxin and Xue Churan gently pushed open the door and stepped lightly into the room. Zhu Hanshu followed, leisurely letting the door swing shut with a low, soft sound.
As they entered the central hall, a woman wearing a shawl radiant with golden light immediately caught their eyes.
Her face was holy, her features picturesque, her eyes wise, and her skin fairer than snow. Her bearing was graceful, her charm extraordinary.
Antique works of art stood tastefully arranged around her, each exuding the lingering fragrance of the years. Yet she seemed to be the center of it all, lending the hall an even greater brilliance that drew their eyes irresistibly and made them forget everything around them.
Faced with this peerless beauty, who looked even younger than they did, Xue Chuxin and Xue Churan exchanged a glance, their hearts full of questions. Who exactly was this stunning woman?
Just as doubts gathered like clouds in their minds, a resonant voice drifted over, breaking the room's silence. "Chuxin, Churan, you're here."
Looking toward the voice, they saw a middle-aged man standing with his hands behind his back beside a window six or seven meters away. He had been gazing at the moon outside and now slowly turned around.
Chen Zixiu, the swordsman beneath the moon, stood tall and straight, his resolute face softened by a trace of gentleness.
The red line between his brows bore witness to the hardship of resisting divine power.
His blue robe, embroidered with silver, was noble yet effortlessly dashing.
Xue Chuxin and Xue Churan hastily bowed. Xue Churan spoke first, pleasantly surprised. "Greetings, Uncle. Thanks to Elder Zhu's guidance, we were fortunate enough to come here."
"We were just wondering which distinguished person awaited us. We never imagined you would be here waiting in person,