The lean, white figure was dressed in white and roughly forty years in age. His face was scraggy and had distinct edges, with a black, beautiful, and long beard dangling in front of his chest. He was holding a seven-bird feather fan as his black, long hair flowed down like a waterfall behind his back, giving off an otherworldly aura which was as carefree and elegant as that of an Immortal.

“Good day, Your Highness.” The lean middle-aged man saluted Ye Qingyu.

The latter ...