The daoist nun carried her sword and stood five steps behind Yu Wen and Wang Anfeng.
At this distance, a swordsman of the Middle Third Rank could, in one thousandth of a breath, behead the person in front with their longsword, or in an instant cripple the martial arts of the youth before her, rendering him as defenseless as a lamb awaiting slaughter.
Li Wanshun steadied her breathing, her right hand still clutching the dagger and her left hand raised, holding onto the cup in front of her, made of bone china, soothing to the touch, as smooth as a beauty's skin.
She lifted the cup.
Behind Wang Anfeng, the daoist nun's eyes lit up slightly, her right hand rising a little.
It didn't matter that Wang Anfeng wasn't handing over the sword.