Nighttime draws near, and the bustling Tiandu gradually quiets down.
High above in the sky, the bright moon hangs, casting its radiant moonlight across the horizon. Stars twinkle inconsistently, unable to ever compete with the brilliance of the moon.
Pei Xuanjing put on a Daoist robe and sat cross-legged atop a jade platform in a pavilion of Baiyun Temple. The battle during the day did not cause much fluctuation in Pei Xuanjing's emotions. Even with the execution of a long-planned scheme, he remained mostly unfazed, considering it little more than a natural progression.
His heart tranquil as water without a hint of ripples. His rhythmic breathing in and out matched the cycle of the moon's illuminations. It is as if he had become one with heaven and earth, allowing the moonlight to drape over him like a layer of silvery gauze, emanating an aura of sanctity.
However, this leisurely tranquility didn't last long, soon shattered by a voice.