Steward Chen emerged from his reverie and waved a hand. "It's windy out here. Let's go inside to talk."
Yang Jing and Sun Ningxiang hurried to follow him into the wooden cabin.
The cabin's interior was spartan. An old wooden table stood in the center, flanked by a few long benches. Piles of scrolls were stacked in a corner, and the air was filled with the faint scent of ink and paper.
Steward Chen sat in the chair behind the wooden table and gestured to the bench opposite him. "Sit."
As the two took their seats, the sect disciple who had guided them lingered at the door. He was surprised to see how mild Steward Chen's attitude was toward the pair, almost as if he were familiar with them.
While Steward Chen wasn't known for being harsh, he was rarely this polite to newcomers.
Not daring to linger, he quickly said in a respectful tone, "This disciple will take his leave."
With that, he gently pulled the door shut and departed.
