The youth was between eighteen and nineteen, handsome with rosy lips and pearly teeth, and his features were as if drawn by an artist. His lips were maple red, alluring like a flaming red spider lily blooming on the far shore of the netherworld, ensnaring the soul. Yet amidst the dazzling beauty was an air of noble elegance, much like that of a young master from a prominent household.
This was a peculiar fusion that, when manifested within the youth, did not seem incongruous. Instead, it only made him more enchanting, causing one to be unable to look away.
An Zhenglin was staring, wide-eyed and in disbelief, at the person ascending the spiral staircase, his whole body stiffened.
Pang Xiangwen, standing beside him, was also stunned. She tugged his clothes, intending to speak, but the silence in the great hall was such that a pin drop could be heard. She dared not speak, and the words she had at the tip of her tongue were forcefully swallowed back down.
