"Who gave Sir Edmund the cheap canned food?"
Tang Li Yue's voice was not loud.
That was precisely why everyone heard it.
For one brief moment, the farmhouse became so quiet that even the old generator outside seemed to lower its hum. The civilians sitting on their blankets froze with their bowls halfway to their mouths. Major Lin's soldiers paused in the middle of washing their hands, tying fresh bandages, or pretending that they had no interest in household matters.
Chen Qiao stood near the kitchen doorway with a towel thrown over one shoulder. He was still damp from his failed dog-bathing attempt earlier, and he looked as though death had finally caught up with him after all.
Tang Li Yue stood in the center of the room with an opened can in one hand.
Her face was calm. Too calm.
