Three quarters of an hour had passed, Wang Ying stood quietly beside Prince An, his head lowered in respect.
A stick of incense had burnt out, leaving only a wisp of smoke that eventually dissipated into the air.
A faint sound!
The subtle noise made Wang Ying raise his head. He noticed that the prince had placed his brush on the blue and white porcelain brush rest.
"My Lord," Wang Ying ventured, it was unusual for the Prince to stop writing so early. Typically, he would write for at least an hour.
Yan Xuan gazed at the spread of paper on his desk, his expression grave. After a moment, he said, "Wang Ying, prepare the carriage for the Princess Mansion."
"Yes, sir." Wang Ying bowed and hastened to carry out the order.
Once Wang Ying had left, Yan Xuan was the only one left in the room. His straight shoulders seemed to slump slightly in that instant.
