Five Hundred Mu at the Imperial City Root

After Fang Qingjue finished speaking, she said no more and quietly watched Shi Tiexin.

She wanted very much to know what reaction the man before her would have after hearing all this.

If he suddenly became exceptionally enthusiastic, fawning over her in every way with honey dripping from his lips, then Fang Qingjue would be very, very disappointed.

Born into a three-hundred-year-old lineage, the difference between her and ordinary Second Generations was simply impossible to measure. At its roots, her Lineage was a family of scholars, and having endured the rises and falls of inheritance to this day, its greatest trait was that it had encountered nearly everything and seen nearly every kind of person.

One could use history as a mirror to foresee what was ahead. Fang Qingjue had been well-read in her family history since childhood. Though still in her maiden years, she and a foolish, saccharine innocent were creatures utterly and completely apart.

Shi Tiexin had been an orphan, living in harsh conditions from childhood. Though he had never ceased striving to strengthen himself, he had inevitably been someone frightened by poverty from a young age, someone who longed to stand out.

Of course, everyone longed to soar to glory and prosperity. But the more miserably one lacked in childhood, the more easily one's hands could veer toward extremes after growing up.

Indeed, judging from everything before this, he was not someone with an especially strong utilitarian streak. Whether it was his declaration that he studied "for Donghua's rise," or the way he handled the media and responded to adoration, he had displayed a grand and open bearing, a tranquil mindset, and lofty vision.

But Fang Qingjue had seen far too many people who wore one face before others and another behind their backs.

Every display could