In the courtyard, White Dragon sat calm and composed.
A tea set was laid out before him; a silver teapot steamed slowly over a little red clay brazier, as if he and a few close companions were sitting around the stove chatting over tea.
Baohou wore a wooden monkey mask and sat cross-legged on the ground to one side, concentrating on tying a paper kite.
The sight looked somewhat comical.
But Madam Lu did not find it comical at all.
The name of the Secret Spy Agency’s Twelve Zodiac stood like twelve high mountains; the shadow cast by those peaks alone was enough to crush the breath out of anyone in the jianghu.
If the Goat or the Rabbit fixed their gaze on you, you wouldn’t dare close your eyes even in sleep; if you fell into Dream-Chicken’s hands, every secret would be pulled out and exposed; Baohou stole people’s faces and was wildly changeable; those entered on the Xuan Snake roster could hide at the ends of the world and still be dragged back to the imperial prison…
But even all of them together couldn’t compare to two words.
White Dragon.
At this moment the teacups on the stone table sent up misty steam, the scent of tea drifting under the gray-tiled eaves and refusing to disperse.