Jia Meng sat in the study, his aged face drawn by a mysterious and extraordinary force, sinking into the deep recesses of memory where the moonlight had once shone.
The setting sun streamed through the flower-patterned window, casting mottled light over him and adding a quiet, sorrowful air to the room.
He recalled how, not long ago, he had watched Jia Meng's boyish dreams and ambitions turn into a path that led him to become the family's patriarch. He had also watched him lose himself in the long river of years beneath the moon.
Back then, Jia Meng had been like a god to him, returning from those dreamlike memories to the mortal world. Jia Meng had grown up and left, leaving behind only a distant silhouette.
He could still hear the words Jia Meng had left behind when he departed: that voice echoed in the distant heavens, yet it rang clearly in his ears.
"I'm not suited to being the patriarch. I'm leaving."
"Don't blame me. I'm still one of the Jia family, and tomorrow, when the clansmen gather, I'll find you a good place to settle. You'll have no reason to complain."
Jia Zhengshen had already made all the preparations to take the position, but he had never expected Jia Meng to refuse so resolutely.
He froze, suspicion and confusion surfacing in his eyes.
He could sense that Jia Meng had undergone some earth-shattering transformation, but he couldn't be certain what it was.
For some reason, his thoughts suddenly returned to a scene from many years ago, when he had competed with Jia Meng for the position of family patriarch.
Back then, the setting sun blazed, the crowd roared, and the atmosphere was tense and fervent.
It was one of the few times he had ever made a