The air seemed to freeze in that instant.
Jiang Qingli's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.
A heavy weight settled in her chest. She didn't want to watch, but the memory continued to unfold.
Two servants hurried toward Baili Jing, who lay on the floor.
The servant who had slipped earlier glanced down nervously. "That voice just now... it wasn't Young Master Cheng Yan, was it?"
"We're in trouble if it was!" the other servant panicked. Not bothering with pleasantries, he roughly grabbed Baili Jing and tossed him onto a stretcher. "Go, go, go! Hurry up! If he finds out we were carrying him, he'll—"
Before he could finish, a childish voice cut in, "He'll what?"
The two servants froze.
The soft sound of leather shoes on the luxurious carpet followed.
The servants shuddered and forced themselves to turn around.
A boy who bore a slight resemblance to Baili Jing walked over.
