Gentle sunlight spilled across the courtyard.
Fine flecks of golden radiance filtered through the drooping willow strands, falling upon the Blue Stone Ground and spreading into mottled patterns of light and shadow.
Jiang Ping An walked slowly into the courtyard and sat beside the ancient stone table.
A breeze stirred the soft willow branches, lightly brushing through the warm air.
His expression was gentle, every trace of sharpness restrained. Patiently, he guided Jiang MiaoYi and Jiang Chuan at his side, correcting the oversights in their cultivation. His brows and eyes were filled with peace.
Looking up, the entire courtyard was wreathed in curling cooking smoke.
His parents and relatives moved busily about the courtyard—washing vegetables, lighting fires, preparing the meal—while soft, lingering laughter drifted through the air.
As he watched his entire family gathered together, the frosty, expressionless face Jiang Ping An had worn for so many years vanished, replaced by a rare, relaxed smile between his brows.
The murderous ferocity forged through half a lifetime of slaughter faded away, leaving only the peace and joy of this everyday life.
He sat quietly amid the warm breeze and sunlight, endless emotions rising in his heart.
People spent their whole lives chasing happiness and joy, yet the rarest happiness in the world had never been supreme authority or unrivaled cultivation. It was family gathered at one's side, years free of worry, enough food and clothes, and peace year after year.
As for everything else, it was merely the desire within a person's heart.
That was why people always said childhood was the most precious and unforgettable time.
When one was young and ignorant, the heart was pure and clear—without ambition, obsession, or worry—with family by one's side from dawn to dusk.
A piece of sweet candy, a bite of tender, fatty