"We've met..."
The General's voice was the furthest thing from gentle—harsher than the biting wind on a snowy winter night.
Zhao Mingyan said frostily, "When have we ever met?"
'Why is he being so difficult?' Ji Qingwu quickly changed her wording. "Greetings, General."
She then lowered her head, not daring to say another word, and waited with bated breath.
After a while, the voice, sharp as an icicle, spoke again.
"What's your name?"
She answered honestly, "Ji Wu."
After this exchange, the man before her fell silent again.
This time, she waited until her neck grew sore. Sweat trickled from her nape, sliding down her spine and soaking the coarse fabric of her clothes until it clung to her back.
He finally moved.
He took a long stride and walked away.
Ji Qingwu sighed inwardly. This first meeting was nothing like she had imagined.
Her planned "damsel tripping on flat ground" or "fainting delicately into his arms" tactics were all useless.
