Upon realizing that a traitor was among them, Zhao Rong slightly squinted his eyes.
He turned his head and looked up at Yu Huaijin.
Yu Huaijin pursed her lips lightly and looked at Zhao Rong earnestly, holding his gaze as if waiting for him to finish asking all his questions, so that after her reply, he could bury his head in learning the zither earnestly.
Their eyes held in the air in front of the stone table for a while.
Zhao Rong suddenly lowered his gaze and patted his sleeve before placing both hands on his knees, his upper body as straight as a pen. He leaned slightly forward, directly opposite Yu Huaijin's face. His sword-like eyebrows drew together in the middle, and his eyes, steadfast and unwavering, reflected the image of the old-fashioned woman before him. Below those eyes was a proud nose and lips compressed into a thin line.
"Doing this is not good," Zhao Rong said word by word, pausing, "and it is not right."
