"Forgive me, Elder," Mu Shiyue said, her voice as calm and silky as still waters beneath a tranquil moonlit night.
"but this was a gift of goodwill, meant to foster rapport between our sects. I am certain Young Master Zhao will understand the sincerity behind it,"
Though her smile remained serene, icy shards glittered in her eyes, refusing to be quenched by the Elder's blazing fury.
She folded her arms, the motion subtly highlighting the enticing curves of her bust, the peaks of her breasts straining against the rich fabric of her gown.
The ancient hermit used to say, The greater the mass, the higher the attraction, alas, those righteous monks will never understand the truths of the world.
Zhao Fan watched the unfolding drama with an unreadable expression, his gaze never wavering from Mu Shiyue's composure as a winter storm lightly dusts the surface of a frozen lake.
With a mere thought, Young Master Zhao summoned a barrier making sure that no noise goes outside.
