The younger generation of the various families had not yet returned to Liangshui City from the outskirts, but news of the gathering had already found its way back to the city through various channels.
In the Fang Mansion, sandalwood incense swirled through Songtao Pavilion, but it couldn't dispel the sudden, oppressive gloom that had descended.
...
Fang Lingyuan sat in the main seat, holding a recently delivered express report. His knuckles unconsciously tapped a dull rhythm on the armrest of the zitan wood chair. TAP, TAP.
On his usually unreadable face, his brows were now knitted tightly, as if weighed down by an invisible storm cloud.
His gaze swept across the paper, each word a cold stone dropping into the lake of his heart.
Standing below, Elder Fang Yuan's graying eyebrows were nearly twisted into a knot. He watched the Patriarch's expression intently, the air in the Quiet Chamber seemingly frozen.
