Sang Qian whipped his head around. Had he been so angry that someone had approached him unnoticed while he was cursing Zu An?

However, once he laid eyes on the newcomer, he immediately exhaled in relief.

It was a middle-aged daoist nun. She was dressed in a yellow daoist robe, and held a snowy-white horsetail whisk in her hand.

It seemed wrong to call her middle-aged. Her face showed no signs of aging, yet there was no way she was a young lady. She exuded an aura of maturity that a young girl couldn’t possibly emulate.

She wasn’t extremely pretty, and was at least inferior to Pei Mianman and Zheng Dan, but she couldn’t be considered ugly either. With her graceful posture, one might even consider her elegant.

“Honored Sister, are you speaking to me?” Sang Qian’s tone grew polite as well. After all, men subconsciously tried to maintain a favorable image in front of beautiful women.

“Do you see anyone else here?” The daoist nun giggled, her laughter harboring a mysterious charm...