By the time Zhu Laosan and his son caught sight of the Ancient Morality Stele from afar, it was already the afternoon of April 17. The sun that had risen in the east now hung directly overhead, scorching Zhu Laosan until smoke seemed to rise from his head. Having walked too far and stood too long that day, the soles of his feet were already burning hot. Standing there felt like standing on a red-hot iron plate; every step was like needles piercing his soles. If he had not prepared a little dry food and water beforehand, he himself would have been unable to hold on.
Zhu Laosan's son, barely eleven years old, had gone deathly pale. If Zhu Laosan had not supported him with one hand, the boy would not have been able to remain standing.
Zhu Laosan's heart ached for his son, but at this moment, he could not let the boy sit on the ground. That would be seen as insufficiently devout and unbecoming; if that happened, the painstaking effort he had poured in over the past ten years would all have been for nothing.
But now, even if they could no longer stand, they still had to stand. The long queue was like a winding giant serpent, trapping father and son within its coils, and Zhu Laosan could only follow the line as it slowly shuffled forward.
"Son, hold on. When we get back, your dad will let you feast on candied hawthorn sticks for half a month..." Zhu Laosan could only comfort his son this way. At the same time, he secretly took out a slice of ginseng he had prepared long ago and slipped it into his son's mouth. He put a slice into his own mouth as well. Only then could he and