"Senior Brother, next time for sure. My arm is still injured," Liu Maolin said, hastily waving his hand.
Xu Hong couldn't help but sigh again.
「...」
The night in the inner courtyard was exceptionally quiet, with only the rustling of wind through the banana leaves.
Yang Jing stood outside the study, the blue brick floor cool with the evening dew. He composed himself, cupped his fists, and announced in a clear voice, "Disciple Yang Jing pays his respects to Master."
"Come in." Sun Yong's steady voice came from within the study, carrying an almost imperceptible warmth.
Yang Jing pushed the door open and entered, the wooden door letting out a faint CREAK.
An oil lamp was lit in the study. Its dim yellow halo enveloped the bookshelves that lined the walls, and the air was filled with the faint scent of ink and old paper.
Sun Yong sat in a Grandmaster's Chair by the window, holding a fist manual. Seeing Yang Jing enter, he closed the manual and placed it on the desk.
