He didn't look up as they entered, but his voice drifted across the courtyard, calm and smooth.
"You brought a guest, Brother Ji'an."
Ji'an stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
There was no drop in temperature.
There was no murderous spike in spiritual pressure. The courtyard remained perfectly, pleasantly cool.
Wangchen set the teapot down and looked up. His dark, bottomless eyes swept over Ji'an, lingering on her face for a moment before sliding smoothly over to Gu Zhiwei.
He didn't glare or sneer at her.
Instead, he offered a polite, incredibly serene, entirely hollow smile.
"Holy Son," Wangchen greeted, his voice an eerie, perfectly modulated baritone. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my peak?"
