The night was tranquil, heavy clouds pressed low in the sky, faintly rumbling as if a storm was brewing. Chen Yi, however, felt an inexplicable clarity in his heart. A soft breeze rustled through the forest, and as fallen leaves floated weightlessly to the ground, he inexplicably wondered what kind of resolute yet melancholy expression Min Ning had when she occasionally thought of him.
Chen Yi groped absentmindedly at his waist and shook himself back to alertness, only for his hand to tremble slightly, spilling half a bowl of wine.
Min Ning looked visibly disheartened and scolded, "This wine is so rare—just three jars. I had to teach someone a blade technique to get just one of them."
Chen Yi snapped out of his thoughts and replied, "That's a shame, though I don't really understand wine anyway."
He was always somewhat clueless about tea and alcohol.
Yin Weiyin, overhearing Min Ning's scolding, was plainly displeased.
