Shang Yu's action of smoking paused as his cold gaze drifted to Luoyu—wisps of smoke rose and dispersed from his fingertips; aside from that, everything around them seemed to have come to a standstill.
"Reason."
The man's thin lips uttered two words, his expression detached, and his dark eyes harbored an almost imperceptible trace of annoyance.
Luoyu pursed her lips, her eyes—narrow and steady—directly confronting Shang Yu, resolute in her opinion, "Your wife should not merely be some wealthy young miss."
"Oh, she shouldn't?" Laughter tinged the man's voice, yet his eyes grew darker and icier, "I gave you an entire afternoon, and this is all you've found?"
With her eyelids lowered and hands clasped behind her back, Luoyu stood silently, weighing her words but not speaking immediately.