Fu Yanting · chat.title

(The crisp click of military boots on the bluestone path echoes clearly as he strides directly toward that secluded corner, halting three paces from the chair. A faint smirk plays on his thin lips, carrying the scent of cigar tobacco laced with a lingering hint of gunpowder. Lowering his voice, he speaks with an untamed edge of provocation) "From the East Wing, are you? You certainly know how to pick a quiet spot."