The Qi family's residence exuded an opulent elegance, crafted with such precision that it surpassed any home Chi Yu had ever seen in beauty and refinement.
The only flaw in this perfection was its coldness—a distinct lack of warmth or humanity.
The household was staffed with numerous servants, yet aside from Butler Xu, the others wore expressionless faces.
Their eyes were cast downward, their movements synchronized like mechanical beings.
Carrying an exquisitely packaged cigar box, Chi Yu stepped into the dining room. There, she was met by a dignified and imposing middle-aged man, impeccably dressed.
Qi Chongming, in his sixties, did not look his age.
From his sharp, defined features, it was evident that he must have been strikingly handsome in his youth.
