In a private room at the teahouse.
A gentle breeze drifted through the open window, carrying away some of the summer's scorching heat.
Wisps of smoke curled up from the incense burner, its faint fragrance both soothing and refreshing.
But the atmosphere inside the private room was anything but relaxed; in fact, it was rather tense.
Fang Shuwen's expression was calm as he toyed with the teacup in his hand, quietly observing Xu Zhiyin, who sat across from him.
Xu Zhiyin's lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression grim.
The old man behind her looked slightly nervous, his gaze darting between Fang Shuwen and Xu Zhiyin, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.
As for the other man and two women, the standing pair—one man, one woman—seemed completely oblivious, as if they couldn't sense the heavy atmosphere in the room at all.
The woman in the white-veiled conical hat, however, clutched the hem of her skirt, seemingly sharing in Xu Zhiyin's tension.
