At this moment, on the other side of the Black Iron Forest, Xia Mengyao was walking side by side with the young man she encountered when she was first dropped here.
Her flowing robes swayed with rhythmic, effortless poise, the hem skimming inches above the loam without picking up a single speck of mud.
Even in this untamed, beast-infested wilderness, Xia Mengyao carried the natural, tranquil elegance of a scion to a sect from the upper realm.
Her deep blue eyes were sharp, scanning the shifting tree line with habitual caution, yet a subtle, persistent crease lingered between her brows as her gaze occasionally drifted toward the companion beside her.
Apparently, his name was Yan Xiao, but Xia Mengyao doesn't know if that's his real name or just a made up one.
In the lawless expanse of the lower realms, where rogue cultivators shed identities like cicadas shedding husks to evade debts and vengeance, an alias was as common as dirt.
