"My closest relatives' deaths were inextricably linked to the forces backing those people."
Jiang Ping An's voice was low and hoarse, as though every word squeezed from the depths of his throat carried unbearable pain.
He slowly unclenched his fist. His knuckles had gone white from the force, and deep nail marks remained in his palm.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in his heart, yet the suppressed rage and grief surged like a tidal wave, impossible to quell.
Seeing him like this, Lan Shi'er's eyes flashed with heartache. She gently comforted him, "Uncle, be stronger. At least you're still alive now. You still have a chance to live well with your remaining family. Look ahead—don't let yourself sink into the pain of the past."
"All my closest relatives were murdered."
Jiang Ping An's voice trembled, and his palm began shaking uncontrollably. Trembling, he removed the Wine Gourd from his waist and tipped back several fierce gulps of strong liquor, trying to numb his mind, which was on the verge of collapse.
Liquor ran from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto his clothes, like the tears in his heart that could not be stopped.
Lan Shi'er's heart jolted. At last, she understood why this despondent man spent every day with wine, and why his hair had turned silver.
She opened her mouth, yet did not know what to say. She had lost her mother and knew the pain of losing a loved one, but compared to Jiang Ping An's loss of every close relative, her pain seemed so insignificant.
After finishing a gourd of wine, Jiang Ping An casually wiped his mouth. His voice was hoarse yet calm. "Are we continuing the sparring?"
Lan Shi'er came back to herself and gently shook her head,