After his brief silent prayer and apology, Yang Qing straightened his robes out of a force of habit, completely ignoring the fact that he was wearing a saint-grade treasure.
What were the odds that a robe of such a caliber would have creases on it?
But it didn't matter, straightening of the robes was a long-standing tradition that has been observed for eons and eons, who was he to break away from such a well-respected tradition?
After he felt his robes were straightened enough, and his demeanor and air were suited to the moment, he decided to get along with it. He had decided he was going to keep it brief and to the point and as for the rough nature of what he was going to say, he decided to go with what he had trained himself to do over the years, especially to survive a mighty foe, like the Order.
"Bootlicking it is," Yang Qing murmured to himself as his gaze fell on the crowd.