As the words fell, Haitang and Wei Yu held their breaths, not daring to lift their heads, let alone glance at Lu Ying's expression.
Outside the window, the night was vast, the north wind howling. Lead-gray clouds unleashed heavy snow, pounding against the window lattice relentlessly.
Inside the hall, silence reigned. In a corner, a few pots of peonies newly sent by the palace florists were blooming profusely, flaunting their resplendent hues of wealth and nobility.
Lu Ying lowered his face slightly, one hand clutching a pair of scissors, the other holding a piece of red paper.
His fingertips pressed so tightly that the paper was nearly crumpled.
After what seemed an eternity, he tugged his lips into a thin smile. "Very well, I'll cut it for you."
Lu Ying earnestly cut out a small silhouette of Cui Ji.
Shen Yinning toyed with the silhouette at her fingertips, smirking lightly. "You've cut it quite well, actually."
