Jiang Yue's eyes lingered on the older woman's features: every furrow, every weathered shadow. Her body had grown frail, movements slower, breath thinner—but none of that touched the quiet steel in her presence. Even now, illness and time had merely refined her edge, not dulled it. This was a woman who once made generals pause, who'd stared down emperors and rebellious grandchildren alike without so much as flinching.
Jiang Yue's eyes lingered on the woman's face—deep-lined, stern, softened not by kindness but by the slow erosion of years. Even now, thinned by illness and dulled by treatment, Madam Luo carried the unmistakable weight of command. The kind that had once quieted war rooms and made unruly children stand straighter.
