The three of them sat around a small, exquisitely carved wooden table, its polished surface reflecting the soft morning light that filtered through the windows.
Lin Feng took his seat last.
His movements were unhurried, each gesture smooth and composed, as though even the simple act of sitting carried a natural elegance.
The moment he settled down, Li Zhiyan stepped forward with quiet attentiveness.
Her sleeves brushed lightly against the table as she poured him a cup of freshly brewed tea, the faint fragrance of spiritual herbs rising in gentle curls of steam.
Lin Feng accepted the cup and took a slow, measured sip.
Without realizing it, Yun Luofeng mirrored him almost perfectly. Her fingers lifted her own teacup at the same pace, her posture unconsciously imitating his refined bearing.
The warm liquid touched her lips, and only then did she notice the dryness in her throat.
Why is my mouth so dry all of a sudden? she wondered inwardly.
