As Han Ling walked toward the door, he saw Ling Zhao and his sword spirit, Yun Qian, waiting for him right outside. Their postures were relaxed and natural, yet the fact that they had been standing there, clearly waiting for him, made Han Ling's chest tighten ever so slightly. Thin-skinned as he was, he always felt a touch of awkwardness in moments like this—when someone was quietly waiting just for him.
"Zhao Zhao… what's wrong?" Han Ling asked, a little embarrassed, his voice carrying the faintest tremor. A moment ago, Leander had abruptly cut off their conversation, and to avoid being a third wheel, Ling Zhao had taken Yun Qian out. Now, after barely a few minutes, they were back, calling him to the door, which left Han Ling slightly at a loss.
Ling Zhao gave a helpless little shrug, smiling faintly. "I saw Grant sitting on the living room couch, so I came to let you know."
