On one hand was her beloved master, on the other her junior sister; she truly didn't know how to choose.
Her expression struggled to settle, those cold-pond-like eyes seeming to have a maple leaf fall into them, rippling slightly.
And all this naturally did not escape Fang Yang's notice; he easily read his disciple's thoughts and sighed inwardly, his heart brimming with endless affection as he tousled Ye Qinghong's hair.
Letting that silky hair cascade down like a waterfall.
Then, with a gesture of his hand, a verdant green bamboo stick landed in his palm.
Spiritual energy surged, and gusts blew; it wasn't long before the bamboo became a delicate hairpin.
Next, his hand passed through Ye Qinghong's hair, deftly tying it into a neat high ponytail.
And there it swished behind Ye Qinghong, looking so proud, so sharp.
Once again, she became that indomitable swordsman.
