Before Wang could roar out the rest of his vile threats, a tall, imposing figure emanating an icy chill appeared soundlessly beside Su Tang, like a mountain that had suddenly shifted.
It was Lu Xiao.
She didn't know when he had come in. He wore a crisp training uniform that accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs.
Beneath the brim of his cap, his deep-set eyes were as dark as the sea before a storm, fixed with a bone-chilling coldness on Wang's face, which was twisted with rage.
Wang choked on the sudden, powerful pressure, the rest of his words caught in his throat. His finger, pointing at Su Tang, froze in mid-air.
Lu Xiao's face was expressionless. He didn't even spare Wang a second glance.
He turned slightly and placed the steaming enamel bowl he was holding—wafting the scent of scallions and sesame oil—on the table in front of Su Tang.
The bottom of the bowl met the tabletop with a soft, yet distinct sound that seemed exceptionally clear in the silence.
