The cool night air beneath the ancient willow trees of the Su estate was entirely suffocating, a stark contrast to the warmth returning to the inner sanctuary where Chen Heng and Chen Shao were quietly reviewing the official lineage documents.
The heavy fragrance of night-blooming jasmine hung thick over the dark stone tiles, completely unmoving.
Yang Muchen stood with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his tall, imposing figure casting a long silhouette across the moonlit path. His eyes, dark and bottomless, were fixed on his cousin with a heavy, unblinking intensity that made the surrounding space feel incredibly small.
"The maid from the west wing," Yang Muchen's low voice sliced through the rustling of the leaves like cold steel, vibrating with a quiet threat. "Yang Zixuan, do you have anything you want to tell me about her?"
Yang Zixuan's breath hitched, the muscle beneath his jaw leaping violently as he desperately tried to maintain his composure.
