Jiang Xuelan.
She wore spiritual armor, the silver-white plates shimmering softly under the holy light.
She wasn’t wearing a helmet, her black hair flowing like a waterfall, simply tied up with a silver hairpin, her expression calm and resolute.
Her white dress fluttered in the wind, rustling loudly. She walked slowly, but her steps were unusually steady, holding a silver-white longsword in her hand.
She walked straight to Chen Ping’s side, turned around, and faced Venerable Xuanbing.
Then she made a gesture no one expected: she slightly lowered her head, clasped her fists together, and performed an ancient salute.
That etiquette was not the etiquette of Ten Thousand Demons Ridge, nor the etiquette of the Guiyuan Sect, but rather an even older, more ancient ritual.
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