Qin Manor.
In the main library of the manor, Qin Yun was draped in robes of dark gold. He wore a silver circlet on his crown, and a pencil mustache above his lips. It seemed as though he had calmed down.
Incense of premium quality burned on in the room. The rich scent of ambergris permeated the air.
All was silent, except for the steady rattle of an abacus. Qin Qing was present too, and his skillful hands danced on the abacus as if he was playing a musical instrument. Before him lay a huge pile of account books.
As the figurehead of the Qin clan, Qin Yun had not managed to find any reliable underlings. Other than his own sister, there was no one that he trusted.
After a while, the clacking sounds of the abacus beads ceased. Qin Qing scribbled some notes on paper before settling himself down on a chair. He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead vigorously.
"What is the situation?"
