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"I am Ran Shiqi, pleased to meet you, Temple Master," Ran Yan inclined slightly.
"The old nun has long heard of Miss Seventeen's reputation; no need for formalities, please have a seat," the Temple Master gestured lightly with her hand for Ran Yan to sit on the cushion opposite her.
Ran Yan sighed inwardly. In ancient times, the speed of rumor spreading was no less than that of an era of advanced communication. In less than a month, even this tranquil nunnery had heard of her affairs.
After sitting down, Ran Yan could see clearly the aged nun before her, whose facial skin was as loose as pine bark, cheeks spotted with age spots, and gaunt as deadwood. One could clearly see the outline of her facial skeleton, with lip muscles beginning to atrophy, her mouth puckered inward, and eye sockets slightly sunken, eyes never opening from start to finish.
Wind-blown candle in its last age, the Temple Master's appearance was the very embodiment of these words.
