The Seven Stars Gang's dining hall was abuzz with activity.
The smells of sweat and food mingled with the vibrant energy of the young men, weaving together in the air.
Chu Fan and Zhao Tianxing, each carrying a large platter of roasted chicken, pushed through the boisterous crowd and found an empty table in a corner.
Only one person was sitting at the table, by the window.
It was Li Qingxue.
She was dressed in plain white robes, her posture as straight and tall as a solitary pine. Before her was a bowl of plain congee and two dishes of simple vegetables, which she was eating in silence.
The greasy, boisterous atmosphere of the hall seemed worlds away from her.
She sat alone in her cool aloofness, like a distant, snow-capped mountain.
Even when the tempting aroma of roasted chicken wafted over, she didn't so much as glance their way, as if the only scent she could smell was the faint fragrance of her congee.
