Suchen lightly tapped the screen of his phone; the messages on it had all been read. He raised his head to look out the window. Late autumn sunlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm glow over the wooden desk and adding a touch of coziness to the quiet afternoon.
He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to talk to Boccaccio. Suchen usually called her "Mom Qiu," a nickname that was both affectionate and slightly bantering, but in this private space, it was more of a habitual form of address.
"Mom Qiu, I've read the novel you wrote," Suchen cleared his throat, preparing to continue. There was a trace of caution in his words, for he knew this topic might touch upon Boccaccio's sensitive nerves.
Chapter 230