[ Yan Zhengming attends to the most important priority first, to wit: cleaning off his sword, which he does magically (of course). As if he'd touch anything that gross, or dirty a handkerchief. Then he glances up at the man he'd just saved. ]
...
[ He puts his sword back into its scabbard and retrieves a fan, which he spreads out before his face, hiding his eyes as if he were a shy courtesan. ]
Ugh! What are you wearing?
[ The man's face is all right, but those clothes! ]
no subject
...
[ He puts his sword back into its scabbard and retrieves a fan, which he spreads out before his face, hiding his eyes as if he were a shy courtesan. ]
Ugh! What are you wearing?
[ The man's face is all right, but those clothes! ]