The night had deepened, and in the sleeping quarters of the Third Prince, a lamp was kept lit. With each gust of wind, the candle cast a flickering shadow.
Winding and meandering, sometimes bright, sometimes dim.
By the sickbed, the man as graceful as jade propped himself up against the headboard, clasping a seemingly aged book in his hand.
Long fingers flipped through the pages, distinct lashes cast shadows, and with a light tremble, they bore a trace of pale frailty.
Kneeling beside the bed was a Black-clothed Man.
The Black-clothed Man's face was obscured as he cupped his fists in his hands
"Master, the person who pushed you into the pond today was sent by the Second Prince."
As these words fell, the person on the bed continued to leaf through his book, without a moment's pause.
Only after a long while did he finally speak in a gentle and mellow tone
