Fang Yuan stepped forward while the elders were starting to surge towards him too.
Some were already reaching as if to embrace, others eager to shower him with questions.
But before anyone could touch him, a sharp crack rang out, the sound of a gavel striking wood.
The hall froze. Every elder stiffened, then, as though spellbound, slowly retreated to their seats.
Lin Zhaoyue rose. With measured steps, she crossed the hall, posture impeccable.
She stopped directly before Fang Yuan, dipped in a graceful bow, one hand lifting the hem of her skirt with perfect etiquette.
"Welcome back, husband. The clan has struggled in your absence, but I have absolute faith you will raise us to glory once more."
The words were sweet, the tone gentle, too gentle for his ears.
Fang Yuan felt no confort in that gentle tone. Instead his chest tightened.
