The moon climbed over the parasol trees, the wind was cold and the dew heavy. In the swaying shadows under the long street eaves, the young man in a crimson robe and silver blade harbored a smile at the corner of his lips, his eyes more intoxicating than a clear, drunken night.
The regal beauty of the children of government officials was striking no matter where they stood, yet at this moment, in the eyes of everyone at the medical center, they were as grim as the lords of the netherworld, Yama in the hall, even their smiles tinged with a trace of chill.
Du Changqing's face was not looking good.
Putting aside these unfounded accusations, why was Lord Zhao Ning's Princely Heir here tonight? He should know these matters weren't under the jurisdiction of the Palace Front Office, so what heat was he trying to add to?