Zhao Fan did not speak immediately, he merely glanced at Mu Shiyue.
That glance alone held the weight of heavenly scrutiny, as if the stars themselves were being evaluated, their orbits judged for worthiness.
Her elegant and authoritative robe, now clung to her like the borrowed dignity of a widow in court, trembling before imperial favor.
"…Undress?" His tone was neither cold nor amused, merely dispassionate, like a celestial being gazing at mortal foolishness.
A righteous monk, wanting to move away from a growing sin.
He did not need to raise his voice, nor did he need to humiliate her.
Her own misunderstanding did that far better.
Yi Xin Yue shifted silently at his side, her lips drawn into a faint, unreadable line, like a maiden who had long ago accepted her master's taste was vast enough to silence empires but too refined to pick fruit already bruised by desperation.
