"If the name of the sect doesn't matter, then what does…" Meng Qi couldn't help mocking in his head. But since he was currently on someone else's ship, he'd better not ask what ought not to be asked.
Quietly, he followed the little girl into the largest cabin. The cabin was furnished elegantly with paintings, calligraphy pieces, and literary tools. Sandalwood was burning inside, giving the place a peaceful and secluded atmosphere.
The little girl made a respectful curtsey at the tall lady sitting behind the desk and said, "First senior sister, the childe is here."
The lady was in her twenties. Dressed in a light red dress, she had delicate features and her hair put up in a bun. She looked noble, if a little cold, and unnatural as if she was an emotionless goddess statue inside a temple rather than a living being.
She was writing when Meng Qi entered the cabin. Every character she wrote was just like her—mechanical, apathetic, and absolutely rational.
