Presidential Palace...
In front of the spacious and sturdy mahogany office, Yeh Huang stood tall and poised, holding a wolf-hair brush in his hand, writing swiftly. The thick ink spread across the rice paper, yet despite being the simplest of characters, he couldn't produce a satisfactory result. Having experienced so much in his life, he was accustomed to viewing everything with a calm and detached demeanor. He could easily see through a person or a situation, which was why he seldom felt restless.
But today, ever since Long Linger left, he had been unable to control his irritation. He tried to calm himself by practicing calligraphy, but he seemed to have failed.
The character "quiet" on the desk, he had written it hundreds of times, yet his heart couldn't find peace.
Stephen entered, carrying a cup of strong tea, and upon seeing the pile of characters on the desk, let out a long sigh.
