Su Wanzhao was at Renming Palace, and Wen Qingyu was at Yanfu Palace; the Prince's residence was so quiet that the drop of a needle could be heard.
Zhao Yan had been hungover from the night before and had not yet risen by the hour of the snake.
Weimo sat poised on the elmwood bed in the west wing, stitching a bamboo-patterned handkerchief in the daylight, though her glistening eyes drifted vacantly. Throughout the previous night, Zhao Yan had held her tightly in his embrace, the thunderous rhythm of his heart drumming against her ears until dawn.
Chapter 44