Month four of absolute house arrest.
Yan Shuo sat perfectly upright on his heated jade cushion, his face an impenetrable mask of serene, dignified calm. In his right hand, he held a calligraphy brush.
It was not a normal brush. The handle was carved from hollowed-out spirit-bamboo to ensure it weighed absolutely nothing. The bristles were made from the tail hairs of a newborn cloud-mink, so soft they couldn't even scratch the surface of a peach.
On the low wooden table in front of him sat a jade inkstone. The ink inside wasn't black; it was a glowing, translucent emerald green. It was a liquid mixture of crushed spiritual healing herbs and thousand-year ginseng essence.
"Very good, Husband! Your posture is flawless!"
Tantai Zhi sat kneeling exactly two feet away, her hands clasped tightly under her chin, her golden eyes practically sparkling with stars. She watched his every movement with the rapt, breathless attention of a mortal witnessing a divine miracle.
