The moon hung bright and the stars sparse, while the night deepened. The corridors twisted and turned, with lanterns hanging above, gently swaying, emitting a faint glow.
The shadows of the trees swayed gracefully, clearly dividing the path.
The spring night's air gathered a thin mist, as if even the corners of one's eyes could be touched by it.
Wei Zhao's figure was tall and lean, moving without pause. He did not take the main road but cut through a shortcut along a dark path, the night dim, the way hard to discern.
Yet he could precisely tell the direction, knowing exactly where each step was, treading steadily.
In his childhood, his schedule was too tightly arranged.
Every day he was always sleepy. To get a little more sleep, he would trot to the main courtyard to pay respects to Ning Suxuan.
After paying respects, he had to go to the Imperial College.
Being late was not an option.
