The transition from late summer to early autumn in the Azure Sword Sect was usually a beautiful, gentle affair. The leaves of the peach tree in the master courtyard began to turn a brilliant, fiery gold, and the evening breeze carried a crisp, refreshing chill.
For a normal cultivator, this change in weather was completely unnoticeable.
But Yan Shuo's fifteen-year-old mortal vessel was not normal. It was a fragile ecosystem heavily suppressed by absolute Yin ice.
Yan Shuo was sitting on the wooden veranda of the side pavilion, sipping a cup of warm tea while watching Sesame. The Shadow Leopard was currently trying to catch falling golden leaves, looking incredibly stupid with a reverse-mohawk shaved down his back and a stubby, flat-tipped tail.
A sudden, cool breeze swept over the courtyard walls.
Yan Shuo felt a microscopic tickle in the back of his nose.
