Yun Qingyu walked away from her residence. His footsteps made no sound on the stone. The corridor was empty. He had dismissed the guards before he came. He did not know why. He had wanted to see her alone.
The torches along the walls cast flickering shadows. He passed two servants who pressed themselves against the wall and bowed without raising their eyes. He did not acknowledge them. He never did.
He thought about her face. The way she looked at him when he said You have been mine since the night I carried you out of the forest. She did not flinch. She did not look away. She said I am not yours and she meant it.
No one had ever looked at him like that.
Women looked at him with fear. They looked at him with hunger. They looked at him with calculation. They weighed what they could gain, what they could trade, what they could take. He had grown up with those looks. He understood them. The looks were predictable.
Her look was not predictable.
