After cutting down the fallen disciples, Yu Xuan drifted towards another area where he detected a group fight taking place.
He moved like a shadow and arrived just in time to see what the others had already seen: a woman backed against an invisible wall of swords.
She held a zither in her hands — delicate, lacquered, the strings taut like a trap. White hair framed slightly pointed ears; her eyes were pupil-less and moon-bleached, giving her an otherworldly, unreadable expression.
Around her nine disciples circled, blades gleaming, voices full of the cruel amusement of a pack.
"Kill her," snapped one. "Be careful, she uses soul-attacks."
"Tsk. If my cultivation weren't sealed I'd have cut you in half first," another taunted, stepping forward with a swaggering blade.
Luo Xianyin, smiled without humor. Her fingers brushed the zither strings.
Music spilled out, soft and impossible, like moonlight on water.
