Nightfall wrapped the earth, as the distant mountains held onto the last thread of sunset.
Qingyin Pavilion stood perched on the cliff, the bronze bells hanging from the eaves sang ethereal tunes in the evening breeze, accentuating the tranquility.
Gu Qing stood by the window, his wide azure sleeves fluttering in the wind like a drifting cloud. He watched the crowd below gather and disperse, his gaze deep as night.
"Teacher," he turned to Zhao Hansheng, who sat by the desk, "Rumors are rampant, clearly someone is deliberately stirring the waters!"
He walked back to the sandalwood desk, his fingertips brushing over the open books: "The sages said: 'If you wish to destroy, first let them be reckless.' These exaggerated praises are clearly a trap. We must find out who is orchestrating this against us."
