Yun Qinghong’s heart felt like it been struck heavily. He did not stand up, nor did he make a sound. Even if all the elders stepped forward to urgently advise him, and even if all the Patriarchs and dukes seated in the west wing incessantly used their expressions and sound transmissions to implore him, he remained unmoving.
“Husband…” Mu Yurou grabbed Yun Qinghong’s arm, and the palm of her hand was deathly cold.