Ling Chen stepped into the courtyard.
Zhao Fan was sitting at a stone table, a pot of tea already brewed, looking toward him with a smile.
Even now, Zhao Fan appeared remarkably ordinary. Dressed in simple, plain clothes with his hair cropped short, his features were honest and unassuming—the type of person you would fail to notice in a crowd. Yet, his eyes held a profound, weathered depth, as if they bore the weight of hundreds of thousands of years of history.
Chapter 256