After several days of heavy snow, the deep night no longer felt cold and harsh. The chandelier hanging at the door cast a warm glow. Lu Ying spent her days building a lodgings in Sword Town, neither too fast nor too slow, but with an overwhelming sense of tranquility.
Her days were nothing more than sword practice, scripture reading, and meditative cultivation.
At this moment, she sat under the veranda, flipping through an aged paper scroll of ancient Sword Scripture under the dim lantern light at the corner of the eaves. The distant sound of iron forging carried by the night wind only accentuated the surrounding silence.
Soft footsteps approached, from afar to near.
Lu Ying did not lift her head, her gaze remained fixed on the Scripture Scroll, as if she already knew who it was.
Yin Tingxue walked over, holding a small wind lamp. The shade was plain white silk, the soft light made her face appear even more luminous, dispelling a bit of the darkness under the veranda.
