For a while, no one spoke. Wang Jingyuan carefully wiped the blood on Feng Ming Sword on one of the dead masked man's back before returning the sword to its sheath. She noticed that the young man was looking at her.
He seemed to be around her age, perhaps slightly older. All of his hair was held up nicely by a gold hair piece on his head, with a skinny golden hairpin piercing through the middle. He had dark brows that arched gracefully over eyes the color of honey when it caught the sun. His fair skin and pale red lips only amplified his good looks. He was dressed like a son from a rich family, and even though his clothes were a little disheveled from the battle, it could not hide the aura of power and elegance about him.
