"Oh, thanks. I always feel uncomfortable without wine nearby," as soon as the gourd landed in his hand, Zuixian lost focus and took a mouthful of wine. But right afterward, his confusion returned, heightened by the calm with which Qiu Meng faced the Divine Tailor. Dressed in a deep-blue ancient magistrate robe embroidered with lustrous white peacock feathers, just by standing there, the Divine Tailor projected a calming and irresistible aura that could easily sway the thoughts and deeds of the weak-willed.
"I don't recall being of the same sect as any 'Divine Tailor,' so unless my aunt took in male disciples that I don't know about, I'm not your senior brother — and certainly not your eldest senior brother. I don't know how much information you've collected on us, but please don't joke with my defunct sect." Weak-willed, Zuixian was not, and as another mouthful of wine glided down his throat, his gaze hardened.
