The weak and feeble Gongliang Liao seemed to have improved by the afternoon, and he and his disciple were lying in bed, discussing the political situation in the capital.
Qin Yao informed the two of the events outside the city today.
Gongliang Liao looked indifferent, as if he had expected it.
Liu Ji slapped his thigh and sighed with regret.
Regretting not getting the first bite of fresh melon.
After receiving a glare from Qin Yao, he scratched his head, chuckled, and restrained himself.
Advising Liu Ji to take good care of the old man, Qin Yao turned and returned to her own room.
The early winter in the capital was bone-chillingly damp and cold, a sensation completely different from the village.
It had just begun, and the household had already started a roaring fire pot.
The warm charcoal fire dispelled the damp chill in the room, leaving it cozy and warm.
The room was dimly lit, and Qin Yao lit the candelabra and sat down at the table.
