Zhao Bin sat quietly at the very edge of the sofa, wearing a light gray casual outfit that had been washed until it was somewhat faded. His sleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing his finely shaped wrists. He looked completely out of place beside the expensive European leather sofas and gilded ornaments, standing out all the more. His posture was straight as a pine, and his handsome features were sharply defined. Behind his swordlike brows and bright eyes lay the frosty aura of someone long accustomed to being in power. But at that moment, he had deliberately reined in his sharpness, leaving only a faint air of aloofness, as though the arguments and contempt around him had nothing to do with him.
