The spring breeze is silent, carrying with it a faint fragrance.
In the pavilion, the tension that was as taut as drawn swords and ready crossbows dissipated a great deal, echoing with Zhou Tiance's aged voice, laden with resentment.
"You're right, I indeed deserve death!"
"But those who deserve it even more are living even better!"
Chen Yuan quietly drank his wine, the blue robe on his body progressively straightened out, with only one end of a sash lifted by the spring breeze, as if filtering through Zhou Tiance's words.
Chen Ke stood underneath the porch not far away, his figure concealed in the shadows.
With his hands crossed and tucked in his sleeves, he looked just like an ordinary old man, intently observing the two people in the pavilion.
Sunlight filtered through the willow branches of the wall and fell upon him, his eyes unfathomable like an ancient well only intermittently visible.
If the old master and Mr. Yuan came to blows, whom should he help?
