Zhou Yitang remained silent.
When she was silent, there was a natural flow of chilling stillness that seeped into one's heart. She always seemed to be in thought, but Chen Yi understood that she wasn't actually thinking of anything—just immersed in silence, an inner world neither void nor chaotic, with a mind as ancient and boundless as the heavens themselves. Whether spoken to or scolded, her face was as placid as an undisturbed well. It was neither escape nor argument, but pure silence.
At such moments, it felt like there was no form, no shadow, and no self.
Even the silent one didn't know why they had chosen silence.
Chen Yi took a deep breath, realizing she wasn't thinking of anything right now, and continued inwardly in a low voice:
