When Jiang Yue stepped into the room, the soft creak of the door barely disturbed the stillness inside. A warm wash of sunlight filtered in through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the quiet corners of the old bedroom in gold. On the bed, propped up against a stack of embroidered pillows, sat Old Madam Luo—upright, alert, and unmistakably present, despite the years etched into the fine lines of her face.
Her eyes, sharp as ever, lit up the moment they landed on Jiang Yue.
"There you are," she said with a dry warmth, voice low but clear. "Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."
Jiang Yue gave a polite nod, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor. Her presence was calm, deliberate—like a breeze that slipped in unnoticed but shifted everything it touched.
"Old Madam," she greeted evenly, the words clipped but respectful.
The older woman raised a brow, not unkindly. "Still calling me that?"
