The cold mountain wind skimmed across the vast surface of the lake, stirring ripples that lapped rhythmically against the pebbled shoreline.
Towering, mist-wreathed crags hemmed in the water on all sides, as silhouettes pierced the overcast sky like broken ribs of an ancient titan.
At this moment, Tang Lin was talking with the four sect disciples who had found them when they first got thrown here.
The four youths wore the matching silver-trimmed midnight-blue robes of their sect, their crests pinned over their hearts, belts adorned with defensive jade pendants and scabbards for their swords and sabers.
When they had first stumbled upon Tang Lin and Shen Ying, blades had half-cleared sheaths in defensive panic.
But with Shen Ying's beauty, along with Tang Lin's smooth tongue, self-effacing mortal smile, and practiced posture of harmless humility, had quickly disarmed their suspicion.
