Yang Ruolan stared at the old man.
Word by word, she asked, "Are you Wang Xian's master?"
The guest hall fell silent for a moment.
The fragrance of tea still curled upward, and the fire still danced softly in the brazier, but the atmosphere in the room suddenly congealed.
Old Gu opened and closed his mouth, wanting to say something, yet finding himself unable to utter a word.
Nangong Xuan's hand, which held the teapot, froze in midair.
Even the shop assistant was stunned. He had not expected this guest from the Goddess Palace to be so direct, skipping all pleasantries and striking straight at the heart of the matter the moment she opened her mouth.
Old Zhang said nothing.
He held his teacup, the Spirit Tea within still rippling faintly and reflecting his calm, placid eyes.
He looked at Yang Ruolan, then at the blue-robed man behind her who had not spoken a word from start to finish.
After a moment, he gently set down his teacup.
Porcelain touched the wooden table with an exceedingly soft, muffled sound.
Well, well.
At this, even Old Gu and Nangong Xuan were stunned.
Just moments ago, they had still been worrying about how to conceal the truth and maneuver around the issue. They had never imagined that Yang Ruolan of the Goddess Palace would leave them no room to maneuver at all.
She had not come for a drink.
Nor had she come as a guest.
She had come to seek revenge—or rather, to seek someone.
And that person was sitting right here, having just finished a cup of Spirit Tea after breaking through. The warmth of the tea still lingered on his fingers.
Old Zhang raised his head.
There was neither panic nor anger on his face. He merely looked calmly