Just a second later, Yang Qing caught sight of the owner of that voice.
She was a female cultivator who looked to be in her early forties. Her deep brown hair curled slightly at the edges. It was long, some of it cascading down her back to her waist, while a portion poured forward, draping over her eyes like curved curtains on windows.
Even partially covered, her almond-shaped eyes and most of her face were still visible. From those eyes to her button nose, cherry rose lips, warm peach-toned skin, and slender neck, her beauty was, without a doubt, extraordinary.
She wore white robes adorned with peach tree branches, each branch blooming with red-orange flowers. She was tall, about Hou Dehui's height, and slender.
Her voice, demeanor, and appearance carried the grace of a flower that, despite weathering countless harsh winters, still retained its delicate beauty and charm.
