The sky was darkening, the two lanterns at the door casting a soft warm glow. The street was deserted, the daytime clamor had gradually faded away.
The shock in her heart was about to burst forth.
She looked at the man's hand.
Wide, slender, with faint scars on the surface.
Mist gathered in Yu Tingwan's eyes, her nose tingled, and her vision blurred.
For a moment, she couldn't distinguish reality from dream, fearing it was all a dream and that everything would be gone upon waking.
She tried to raise her hand.
Before it could fall into Wei Zhao's palm, he stepped forward and firmly grasped it.
Yu Tingwan was helped down from the carriage by him, followed him up a few steps, and was then pulled over the threshold.
Upon pushing open the door, they were met with a screen wall; rounding the wall, the view suddenly expanded, revealing a lush courtyard with faint floral scents.
The Yu Family was not small.
