Mùróng Zhuó slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, his dark robes spreading across the brocade quilt like a pool of shadow.
The hand that usually held a brush was now surprisingly dexterous, slender fingers gently resting upon my temples.
His fingertips carried the faint calluses typical of a martial artist, yet his pressure was perfectly controlled, massaging in unhurried circles.
Chapter 196