After such a long passage of time, Jiang Qiu had matured into a middle-aged state. While he still retained some features of the Dragon Race, his face had grown more human and refined with age.
He showed no signs of being weathered by time; the years seemed only to have endowed his face with a profound charm. His eyes held an intoxicating depth, as if they contained entire oceans and constellations. They were both gentle and resolute, capable of peering through the clamor and tranquility buried deep within a person's heart. His eyebrows were sharp as swords—a single arch could command the winds and clouds, yet they possessed a softness, like willow leaves swaying in the autumn breeze.
The bridge of his nose was straight and exquisitely defined, like a sculptor's masterpiece. The subtle flare of his nostrils gave him an air of authority without a trace of anger. His lips, thin and firm, formed a decisive line, but when he smiled, the very air around him seemed to warm.
