High above the sprawling, chaotic plaza, suspended effortlessly within the atmospheric currents of the upper sky, Xiao Long stood perfectly still.
The violent, high-altitude winds whipped fiercely against the clean, precise contours of his modern white suit, but a subtle, invisible barrier of refined spiritual energy kept a single strand of his immaculate white hair from falling out of place.
His deep red eyes remained cold, analytical, and entirely unbothered by the sheer physical height, looking down upon the tens of thousands of gathered youths with the detached composure of a grandmaster inspecting a field of crops.
To the naked eye of any ordinary cultivator standing below, he appeared to be nothing more than a remarkably handsome, exceptionally aloof faculty member of the Imperial Academy keeping a standard, routine vigil over the new generation.
But beneath that silent, calm exterior, his consciousness was operating at an unimaginable, blinding speed.
