Let’s talk about that ornate coffee table—tassels swaying like nervous eyelashes while Li Wei drops papers like confessions. Xiao Yu rises not in anger, but in *calculation*. Her crossed arms? A fortress. His slight smile? A trap sprung too early. The real villain? The chandelier overhead, gleaming like judgment. The Art of Revenge knows: power wears silk, speaks in pauses, and never raises its voice. ✨