The old man was kneading mud in the courtyard.
In his aged and rough hands wet, ordinary looking yellow mud was being kneaded into the shape of a human puppet. The old man’s facial expression was very focused, and he appeared to be lost in his own word.
Hong Rongyan did not say anything and stood silently behind the old man.
He wore a luxurious, ink-black silk robe, making him look as if he was engulfed in a dense shade of darkness. His robe was well-fitted, wrapping closely around his long and slim figure. The glistening, dark-red cinnabar dot in between his eyebrows added an indescribable tinge of charm to his devilishly handsome face.
When he appeared in the courtyard, all the rays of light seemed to focus on him.
The old man was very focused on kneading the mud and Hong Rongyan was also very focused on watching him doing so.
The sunlight shone into the courtyard and onto the old man’s back, making the scene look like a painting.
