The Earl's Mansion's third-floor study room was lined with a wall of bookcases filled with classical literature.
The room's dark red decor cast an air of solemnity and oppression throughout.
The ceiling light in the room was warm, its glow enveloping the person near the sofa, quiet enough to only hear the occasional crisp sound.
That was the sound of the wine glass shards Li Qiao had dug out of her palm dropping onto a tray.
At that moment, Shang Yu was kneeling on one knee, head half-bowed, holding Li Qiao's right hand with one hand while using tweezers to carefully search for the embedded shards in her flesh.
The man's short hair hung over his forehead, hiding his gloomy eyes.
He seemed to be very careful in controlling his strength, but the back of his hand holding the tweezers was already a map of exposed veins.
Li Qiao had not spoken a word the entire time, sitting quietly, even if the flesh in her palm was mangled, she never made a sound.
