Lady Liu Huanyin stood alone in the brewhouse, her silhouette slender and poised beneath the silver sheen of moonlight. Steam curled around her like a ghostly veil as her hands moved with practiced grace, blending petals and herbs into the fragrant brew.
Tonight's Zuihua Yin felt heavier than usual—its scent laced not just with intoxication, but memory.
She didn't notice the figure in the shadows. Cloaked in black, he watched silently, his gaze sharp, eyes glinting like frozen stars beneath his hood.
Upstairs, on the second floor, Lao Hu's voice drifted down with laughter and wine:
> "Ye Mingzhi—the boy born of prophecy, the one who braved fire and storm for the sake of love."
In the far corner, a veiled woman leaned toward her companion and whispered something teasing. The man beside her remained still, unreadable.
But when Lao Hu spoke the name "Ye Mingzhi," a flicker crossed the stranger's face. His fingers curled, tightening around the cup, wine trembling just slightly at the rim.