Aunt Zhou thought she was feeling guilty about last night's incident and advised, "You accidentally spilled that bowl of soup, it wasn't on purpose. Sir and madam are not the kind of people who fuss over small things, so don't take it to heart."
Zhao Ying was preoccupied with the indifferent yet sinister gaze of that man, lacking the energy to make small talk with Aunt Zhou. After mumbling a vague response, she brushed off the hand resting on her shoulder, went back to her room, grabbed a coat, and left the house.
Aunt Zhou sighed, shook her head, and went upstairs to the study to call the couple down for dinner.
At the dining table.
Nan Wan had eaten a meal earlier in the afternoon that lasted a long time, so it hadn't even been three hours, and she wasn't hungry at all; she hadn't touched a bite.
One hand propped up her cheek on the table, while the other held chopsticks, picking food for the man.
