In the guesthouse, the moon shone bright and the stars sparse.
Yue Hongling leaned casually on the pavilion railing, drinking, as she watched Zhao Changhe sitting in the courtyard with closed eyes practicing his cultivation; her lips curled in a never-ending smile.
Whether it was his manner of seizing every second to cultivate or the dialogue they had just shared, Yue Hongling found herself liking him more and more with each passing moment, as every word seemed to speak directly to her heart.
She didn't consider him a hero, rather, she simply felt this was how it should be—this was the man whose presence had compelled her restless heart to settle, the man who had not changed since the moment they had met. Whether or not figures like Li Shentong retained their old feelings, Zhao Changhe surely did.
Whether he was once the bandit of Beimang Mountain or now the powerful King Zhao of Great Han.
