If Xuan Mu was a handsome young master, brooding and restrained, then Wang Shaoyu was truly the epitome of a refined gentleman. His smile was subtle, tinged with a touch of shyness, and his gaze always carried sincerity and kindness.
"Brother Wang, you've arrived late. You might have to drink a penalty cup!"
"I can't drink much; my alcohol tolerance is low!" He declined gently, but without causing any displeasure.
Wang Shaoyu first greeted everyone in turn, then sat down to the side, listening to the others with a smile. He did not interrupt, but whenever someone addressed him, he was able to respond, contributing his thoughts articulately—a stark contrast to those who spoke grandiose words but were no more substantial than empty husks.
Yuanbao watched Wang Shaoyu several times.
Wang Shaoyu always sat upright, with a gentle gleam in his eyes that occasionally betrayed hints of loss and sadness—fleeting and faint, extremely well concealed.
