Qin Shier repressed the scorn on her face, and with a respectful demeanor, she pushed the door open and entered.
In the boudoir filled with the lingering scent of sandalwood, an elderly man in green with white frost in his hair stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
The elder was tall and wore a mask shaped like a tiger's head.
Though aged, he stood there as if he were a tiger deep in slumber, ready to erupt with a fierce aura that could make one's heart tremble once awakened.
"Master."
Qin Shier paid her respects respectfully.
The tiger-faced elder gazed at the glistening lake, his voice not purposefully disguised, hoarse with age, "How did it go?"
Qin Shier forced a smile, "It wasn't favorable."
The elder seemed surprised, turned around, and with grayish-white eyes, stared at her lithe figure, sneering, "So there are indeed men in this world who don't wish to bow at your peony-draped feet, how rare."
