Yuzuki stepped forward like she could feel his conflict and drew her sword with one smooth motion; the steel whispered free while her posture changed so naturally that even Phei had to admit she looked damn good doing it. Her shoulders settled, her breathing shortened and every trace of casual irritation disappeared behind the calm of someone who had wielded a sword for longer than Phei had been a cultivator.
The thought that followed was considerably less respectable.
'Unsheathed sword.'
For some stupid reason, the words kept echoing inside Phei's head while his gaze remained on the woman holding that weapon. The cool composure on her face should have encouraged mature thoughts about technique, timing and exactly how dangerous that sword looked in her hand.
