A carved desk stood neatly in one corner of the sitting area, papers stacked with meticulous precision. Behind it sat Lord Jin, his posture straight, the faint light from the oil lamp throwing hard lines across his face.
He did not look up immediately. The muted voices from the virtual meeting still murmured faintly from the open laptop at the corner of the desk, charts and faces frozen in mid-discussion. Only when the sound of their footsteps crossed the threshold did he pause, his gaze sliding upward, first toward Fang Lin with the tray, then toward Yueyao who followed, composed and unflinching.
"Set it down," Yueyao said softly.
Fang Lin swallowed and obeyed, placing the tray on the edge of his desk. The porcelain cups clinked faintly as she adjusted them, her palms damp with nervousness.
Lord Jin's eyes fell to the golden liquid in the cups, the citrus fragrance faint but unmistakable. His brows twitched, the barest flicker of recognition, and distaste.
