Slowly, Xie Lian lifted his eyes. A youth, roughly eighteen or nineteen years of age, stood silently behind the cloudlike red silk curtains. It was San Lang. His robes were still the same maple red, his skin still white as snow. It was the same uniquely handsome and dangerously sharp, youthful face, but its contours were now slightly more defined. While he could still be called a youth, he could also be called a man.
