Yang Ye, filled with melancholy, drank the millet porridge from the bowl spoon by spoon, sitting alone at the dining table.
The vast Wang Residence was eerily quiet.
Thinking of Qiao Xiaomai's stubborn demeanor added to the deafening silence.
The night was somewhat chilly.
Mindlessly eating some other dishes, he found them tasteless. With a wave of his hand, he ordered the food on the table be cleared away.
He then stood up and walked toward the courtyard.
The moonlight was cold and desolate, casting a ghastly pallor all around.
His phoenix eyes stared at the moon for a moment before he let out an involuntary sigh.
Since he left the palace at fifteen to build his own residence, seven years had passed. For all this time, he was used to washing up and sleeping right after dinner, occasionally going out with friends for drinks. This routine was commonplace until he met Qiao Xiaomai, which added a layer of sorrow out of nowhere.