"Young Master."
Early in the morning.
Qian Shiyao came to visit in a hurry.
"What is it?"
Zhu Ju, dressed in a simple robe and barefoot on the wooden floor, picked up a wooden hairpin and casually fastened his waist-length hair:
"Why the rush?"
"The Sanhe Gang sent word. They've found the cloth that was stolen from us and told us to go pick it up," Qian Shiyao said with a bow.
Her gaze swept over Zhu Ju's long hair, a flicker of envy in her eyes.
The longer hair grew, the more prone it was to becoming yellowed, dry, and difficult to manage—something she knew all too well as a woman.
And yet.
Zhu Ju's hair was not only long but also incredibly smooth, like a waterfall of ink, and seemed to require almost no maintenance. It was truly something to be envied.
In Qian Shiyao's old impression, the Zhu Family's eldest legitimate son had been scrawny and ignorant.
Aside from his decent looks, he was utterly useless.
