With the man he loved suddenly snatched from his arms, Zhang Lanhe's eyes darkened, becoming even more frightening than the miserable weather.
"Young Marquis, give His Highness back to me."
He had only wanted to get close to Xie Huizhou, yet someone had come along to steal his love, as though every last one of them had been born to oppose him.
What was wrong with holding his own wife?
It was perfectly reasonable. There were always people jealous of how close they were.
The more Zhang Lanhe looked at Fang Yuanke, the more he disliked him. So what if you're blessed with auspicious fortune? Steal my wife, and I'll still deal with you!
Fang Yuanke showed no fear of Zhang Lanhe's threatening gaze. Their eyes met, and the two faced off in the street.
The tension between them grew thicker. Both had their hands on their swords, and a fight could break out at any moment.
Fang Yuanke treated Zhang Lanhe's words as delusional nonsense. "Give him back? He has nothing to do with you. Imperial Preceptor, you're treating the Ninth Prince as your possession."
Stop talking as though he's your wife. How are you, the Imperial Preceptor, any different from a thug abducting a man off the street?
The more Fang Yuanke saw of these so-called powerful officials' expressions, the more he felt this dynasty's end was approaching. His desire to burn it all clean with a single fire grew ever stronger.
This was precisely why he had lain low for years: to take revenge on those who had cast him into hell and protect those he wanted to protect.
"This is between us. In what capacity are you interfering, Young Marquis Fang? You have no right whatsoever."
Zhang Lanhe's words cut deep, but every word was justified.