"Ting Feng?" Fang Chuning looked at him in shock, unable to fully process the moment. He simply knelt there, gazing up at that strikingly mesmerizing face—one that astonished with a glance and entranced with another.
The biting chill of early spring hung in the air, yet Xie Jue, who had rushed over with reckless speed, felt none of the cold wind slicing through; his body was drenched in sweat. His face, pale with unspeakable dread, was devoid of the elegance and poise that often defined the noble young master of an aristocratic family. Anxious and uneasy, he resembled nothing more than an ordinary youth desperate in the face of doomed love.
Marshal Fang's gaze was sharp and piercing, fixed firmly on him as though waiting for his explanation. No matter how urgent the matter, Xie Jue barging into his estate—and specifically into his study—without care for decorum was a grave breach of etiquette, completely lacking in respect.
