The night wind rustled, the woman's white dress flowing in the breeze, her black hair and red ribbons gently fluttering.
The woman wouldn't be considered a great beauty, but her gaze carried a kind of cold indifference and mercilessness, looking at everyone with eyes as cold as the desert night.
"An immortal? It's a rare sight indeed," the young Taoist's voice was filled with sarcasm.
The woman gave a polite nod, saying nothing in response, as if to return the greeting, and then walked straight over to the child still tied up, with silver needles in his navel.
"This child is pitiful. Let me raise him," said the woman.
The woman's voice was also cold, clear, and indifferent.
"If an immortal speaks, how dare we say no?" the young Taoist's words were still barbed.
"If you're unwilling, I can leave it be," the woman replied to the young Taoist without anger.
