Marquis Xuanping held the fox-fur hand warmer in his hands, nonchalantly getting into the carriage.
Observers would find it hard to associate this serene and graceful man with a first-rank warlord who orchestrates strategies from behind the scenes, winning battles from thousands of miles away.
"To the residence," he ordered.
The carriage started moving.
The horses of Marquis Xuanping's residence were reputed to cover a thousand li in a day, their mere presence often intimidating other horses on the road into retreating.
The cold wind bit harshly, ruffling the elaborately embroidered curtains of the carriage.
Marquis Xuanping sat in the carriage with his eyes closed, seemingly in deep thought.
However, sensing something, he opened his eyes and said, "Stop the carriage."
The carriage halted.
Xuanping lifted the curtain to look back. Besides an ordinary-looking carriage, there was nothing else to see.
"My Lord, is something amiss?" one of his personal guards asked.