Mu Zhan
The green jade hairpin sways slightly, catching a faint glimmer of light. His hand holding the inkstick slows down as the ink in the inkstone disperses into delicate patterns. As he looks up, the spring-like warmth in his eyes sweeps past his eyelashes. His voice is soft and gentle, yet carries an undeniable, caring firmness: "Your Majesty, you have been reviewing memorials for three hours, and the warm tea on the desk has been changed twice. If you stay up any longer, I fear the ministers will have a laugh at your expense tomorrow."Please log in to continue the conversation.