"Wasn't the Huli Jing's primordial god known for having over a thousand concubines? Why did you say "future wife"? Do you mean to say that our great ancestor had never chosen a main consort?" Bai Qingyue kept firing questions one after the other. His long claws scratched the wooden surface of the tray in his hands as his usual tone of indifference was suddenly piqued by a rare hint of curiosity.
Bai Zhang stilled in his spot, raising one of his bushy eyebrows ever so slightly as he assessed this peculiar son of his. Contrary to his expectations of being politely entreated to lend assistance, given the current predicament the boy had found himself, Young Qingyue seemed oddly preoccupied with their ancestor's legendary history rather than escaping his enforced confinement.
Out of all the brief conversations they had shared to date, this was the first time his son sounded so interested in the knowledge he possessed.
