Compared to the young woman's improper attire, Zhao Dafu, in his plain cloth garment devoid of any adornments, seemed much more normal. Yet even this did not allay Mo Yan's suspicions, thus her gaze upon the father and daughter carried a scrutinizing quality.
Mo Yan remained silent, and so did everyone else as they watched the two before them, none speaking a word.
Whether due to extreme tension or the rush to arrive here, beads of sweat formed finely on Zhao Dafu's forehead despite the weather not being particularly hot. These beads grew heavier and soon began to slide down his cheeks, plopping onto the ground with a soft sound.
How could Zhao Dafu not feel anxious? He was well aware of his daughter's temper; from the way she had just complained to him, he knew she must have said something inappropriate and displeased the new master. Otherwise, during the last visit with the new master, he had not been made to kneel on the ground this long.
