Lu Mingyuan stood on the other side of the main gate. He frowned the moment he heard the man's lazy, nonchalant tone.
'This master?'
'Such arrogance.'
'Still, this was someone sent by my father, the Emperor. I can't be disrespectful.'
He slowly opened the vermilion gate and saw a middle-aged man who was neither tall nor stout. He wasn't handsome, but he wasn't ugly either; he was the very definition of plain.
He had a thick, unkempt beard that made him look sloppy. He wore a conical bamboo hat and had a cloth bundle slung across his body, suggesting he had just returned from a long journey. His right hand, wrapped in white bandages, leaned on a bamboo staff, and a wine gourd hung from his waist.
The reek of alcohol wafted off him, so strong it could be smelled from several yards away.
He didn't look like a reclusive Taoist practitioner, nor a Martial Artist with the vitality of a dragon. He looked like a staggering drunk.
