"Yes, madam, yes." Liang Qu casually recited, "The blade is like water, Wu salt surpasses snow, delicate hands break fresh oranges, the brocade tent is newly warmed, and the beast smoke never stops..."
Noon moves to afternoon.
The atmosphere is oppressive.
Hedban was sweating profusely, clearly feeling the doubtful gazes of others, piercing like needle pricks, himself like tender lamb frying on a tiny flame on an iron plate.
Could it be... that he remembered wrongly?
Liang Qu spoke in the official language, which Hedban was not familiar with. It sounded awkward, and there might be a chance that he remembered the pronunciation of some word incorrectly.
The more he thought, the more he doubted himself, silently reciting the 12 hours several times, cold sweat soaking his clothes.
Could it be that it wasn't Noon, but the fifth hour?
But the fifth hour had already passed…
