"Very well. Then when Your Majesty emerges, I will find a way to contact you again."
Su Mian gave a quick glance at the sky before lowering her voice. "I should return now. You should do the same. His Majesty's demon hounds usually patrol this area at noon—it won't be long before they arrive."
The mention of Mo Tian's hounds sent a chill through Feng Ling. Her face drained of color, though she forced a faint smile at Su Mian. Without another word, she turned and left, Zǐyān trailing silently at her side.
By the time she reached their chambers, her composure had steadied. Yet the moment she stepped inside, her heart faltered. Mo Tian was seated before the writing table, a stack of memorials and scrolls laid out in neat order. His long fingers moved with measured precision, his brows shifting between faint frowns and brief ease, as though each word on the scrolls carried its own heavy weight.
