"Qing Xi Fei Xi, to become such plain brocade."
The threads of green intertwine, weaving into a simple and elegant brocade cloth, so naturally refined without excess adornment, the topmost things need not too much embellishment.
Between the plain-colored robes, a pair of pale wrists held a sword hilt wrapped in blue silk. The narrow and cold blade slashed through the air, now concealed, now revealed, tracing momentary edges like a crescent moon threading through clouds, elusive yet omnipresent.
Since encountering the Green Lotus Sword Washing Palace's legacy in Jielou City two years ago, Tilan hadn't met a peer who surpassed her in pure swordsmanship. But this time, she felt a puzzling sensation, an ineffable opposition, long forgotten.
