The servants, gathered at the door to welcome their arrival, were met with Han Yu's unmistakably displeased scowl. Fearing the wrath simmering within their master, they shivered with trepidation, unsure of what had caused such a mood yet exceedingly cautious, dreading even a slight misstep might provoke his ire.
Han Yu's prestige had been growing by the day, and he wore a demeanor of strict solemnity in public. His governance was stringent; transgressing his military camp rules would mean facing martial law. Although the servants at his Mansion were not subjected to military law, they still found his discipline quite severe and dared not offend him.
"Speak! What is it?" Han Yu's voice sounded through gritted teeth.
