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Late autumn was giving way to winter. The wind outside was damp and sharp, like knives carried on mist.
Han Qiongnian sucked in a breath through her teeth, shivering, then quickly stepped inside. From her sleeve, she pulled out a scroll and laid it on the desk. Next, she fetched the nearby oil lamp, placed it beside the scroll, and grinned at her daughter with hands on her hips.
Xie Yu closed the door behind her, cast a glance at the scroll, and sighed.
“Mother…what are you doing?”
Han Qiongnian chuckled.
“I know you like those roguish swordsman types. Yesterday, the matchmaker came by and said that Elder Bao’s son from the Hundred Sword Sect has taken a liking to you. She brought his portrait so you could have a look. There’s real sincerity here, you know. You know Young Master Bao, don’t you? You’re Southriver’s Swift Sword, and he’s called the White-Clad Sword Gentleman. What a perfect match!”
As she spoke, she began unrolling the scroll under the lamplight. The painting revealed a dashing swordsman in white, refined, heroic, straight out of a ballad.
Xie Yu didn’t even look.
“Mother, didn’t you promise not to pressure me?”
“Oh come on, child! How is this pressuring you? You’re already...
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