"What do you know about the attack?" Mo Jian's voice was calm, yet beneath the surface lay a storm of suppressed fury.
His gaze, like the edge of an unsheathed blade, cut through the room and landed squarely on Qiu Yan.
She flinched inwardly.
Though the room was silent, the air crackled with invisible pressure, thick enough to choke.
The scent of sandalwood from the incense burner in the corner, which usually brought peace, felt stifling now.
Qiu Yan sat straight, but her heartbeat echoed in her ears like a war drum.
Under Mo Jian's terrifying gaze, all the fine hairs on her arms stood on end.
Her body instinctively braced, as though a predator stood before her rather than a young man.
She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to maintain composure.
Her lips parted slowly. "Young Master… like everyone else, I'm also shocked by the sudden attack."
Her voice was steady, practiced. "I've already sent my people to investigate the source, but so far… nothing's come up."
