However, flattery and sweet talk had limited effect, especially on someone like Hong Tianzheng.
Unlike those who enjoyed fawning praise,
he was a more straightforward man, one whose eyes could not tolerate a grain of sand. A word or two of flattery could serve as seasoning, but too much would absolutely breed disgust.
So it could not be treated as a sharp tool for social dealings; he had to think of another way.
Meng Zhao's thoughts turned swiftly. He immediately thought of a topic that could catch Hong Tianzheng's attention and perhaps create another opportunity for himself. Putting on a puzzled expression, he said,
"General Hong, the affection between you and your wife is deep; what I saw cannot have been false. But what illness does Madam Hong suffer from, for her constitution to be so frail?
When we ate earlier, she consumed very little as well, scarcely enough to replenish her daily expenditure. If this continues, I fear it will not end well."
Meng Zhao's eyesight was keen, and he had even created such a mysterious art as the Emperor's Qi Gazing Technique. Naturally, he could glean certain crucial details from Madam Hong's complexion.
Though they had spent only a short time together and had not come especially close, Meng Zhao could sense that Madam Hong was afflicted by a cold toxin and cold ailment within her body. Over time, her qi and blood had withered, and it had already begun to threaten her life.
By Meng Zhao's own judgment, even with a master like Hong Tianzheng patiently channeling true qi into her day and night to alleviate the signs of the cold toxin, she likely would not survive another three years. In other words, Madam Hong did not have long to live.
Hong Tianzheng had been all smiles,