Yet, you dare not act rashly before this person, and even when probing, you must tread carefully.
"I've said before, my courtyard doesn't welcome you. Please leave."
Zhao Yi mercilessly sent off the guests.
Zhao Heming and Chen Cui'er exchanged glances, turned and left. Father let out a long sigh, while Mother looked back with every step.
Zhao Yi ignored them, returned to his room, and lay down on the small bed.
Old Tian's bed was originally set up temporarily; others were attended by handmaidens, he was attended by an old man.
When an adult's weight is on it and moves slightly, it creaks beneath.
As a child, he and Old Tian slept on this small bed, the sound of the gusts from the palm-leaf fan blending with the bed's creaking lulling him to sleep.
Zhao Yi's eyelids slowly lowered, the view blurred, then flames surged.
The fire devoured not just the bed, the room, the whole Zhao Mansion was ablaze, piercing screams from the Zhao Family filled his ears.
