The South Garrison Marquis's Mansion had pledged allegiance to Prince Heng, who highly valued Zhao Qing's exceptional talent for crafting weapons. Recently, Prince Heng had repeatedly urged her to develop a large-scale weapon of mass destruction.
Zhao Qing feigned composure, picking up a piece of pastry from the table. "I'm in a bad mood. I don't feel like drafting designs."
Without the Taihua Notes, Zhao Qing couldn't conjure any ideas for weapon designs. A vague premonition gnawed at her—her days of comfort were numbered.
Unable to salvage her crumbling situation, she resigned herself to indulgence, savoring what little luxury remained.
One more day alive is one more day earned.
Shangguan Xuan softened his tone, coaxing her gently. "A-Qing, please help me. If Prince Heng succeeds, our marquisate will regain its former glory."
Zhao Qing swallowed the pastry, unmoved. "Do you think inspiration grows on trees? I'm not in the mood to design weapons right now."
