Han Zhao couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension in his heart.
Looking at Your Majesty, he didn't seem angry, but it didn't look like excitement either. What did that expression mean?
Although he was anxious inside, he had been standing by Wei Shu's side all along, but on the surface, he kept his composure, properly standing by Emperor Yue's side and grinding the ink for him.
After grinding the ink a few times, Emperor Yue suddenly slammed the document heavily on the desk, startling Han Zhao.
The instinct to survive made him kneel down at once, shouting loudly, "This servant deserves to die, this servant deserves to die!"
Emperor Yue glared at him, "What have you done that merits death?"
"If Your Majesty is angry, it must be because this servant has not served well, isn't it my fault then?"
