Translator: Pika

  Sang Qian whipped his head around. Had he been so angry that someone had approached him unnoticed while he was cursing Zu An?

  However, once he laid eyes on the newcomer, he immediately exhaled in relief.

  It was a middle-aged daoist nun. She was dressed in a yellow daoist robe, and held a snowy-white horsetail whisk in her hand.

  It seemed wrong to call her middle-aged. Her face showed no signs of aging, yet there was no way she was a young lady. ..