After a lapse of more than one year, Yan Buhui was just as dashing and unrestrained as before.

He had always looked seventeen or eighteen years old, vigorous and energetic. His long white robe was setting off his slender figure that was always straight like a javelin and seemed like it would never bend. His white hair was like the thousand-year-old ice snow on the Snow Empire’s mountain peak, and under the same silvery white brows was a pair of eyes that was always as cold and ...