Qiao Xiaomai wasn't just an ordinary peasant girl; she had seen her fair share of the world. Under Yang Wenxiao's gaze, she calmly ate her dinner.
Indeed, the meal was tasty.
Soon, dinner was over.
The maid cleaned away the dishes and served tea.
Yang Wenxiao leisurely tasted his tea. However, it lacked the refreshing aroma, leaving a bland taste in his mouth.
"Miss Qiao, who are the members of your household?" Yang Wenxiao began to inquire about Xiaomai's situation.
Of course, he had already investigated all of this thoroughly. His present line of inquiry was just to dispel the persistent melancholy in his heart.
Years ago, when Gu Yu broke the alliance and went north, the Yang Family troops he led were fiercely attacked by the enemy. As the commander, an arrow struck him just below the heart, posing a grave threat to his life.
Thinking he was on his deathbed, a master from outside the camp brought him a bowl of steaming rice.
