The distance was too large; the old woman's scattered strands of hair could barely be seen swaying in the air. She was too old; so old that even her hair wasn't willing to stay near her, escaping her bun, which wasn't held tight by a hairpin, and striving the be the first and fearing to be the last to taste the youthful evening wind. Li Shiyi's pace was both slow and conscientious; Ling Heng's spirit and her were folded in a single place, and from her bones and blood flowed an authority that gods feared and ghosts dreaded; the inky night was her best subject, taking her place to raise the tassels of flags of those retreating. "You…" Qin-jiangjun said, her voice as hoarse as a scratched glass, yet the essence of sound strove to rise, preserving the heritage of the prestige of a high-ranking military officer. "You recognise this venerable one?" The strength of her astonishment wasn't great, and when she spoke, she habitually raised the white q