Over the span of a decade or two, Xiaoyu had indeed grown up. But her eyes weren't blind.
Honestly! Chen Pingping muttered under his breath, then said with a wry smile, "Fellow Daoist, please calm down."
The man glanced at him sideways. "You're right, women do like suave and refined men. Well, as it happens, I am precisely such a person."
With those words, he picked up the wine cup on the table and began to sip from it. At first glance, he did seem to fit the part.
Chen Pingping said no more.
After sitting for an hour, people came and went, the murmur of conversations ceaseless. They talked about Guang Xiaoyu, about Zi Ji, and about numerous other geniuses.
Then, someone spoke up, "That flower is about to appear."
The speaker, a man with thick eyebrows and large eyes, had a coarse appearance, but his expression was grave as he uttered these words.
The few people nearby, upon hearing this, immediately adopted solemn expressions.
That flower.
