In the courtyard, Zhao Cheng's grandfather was chatting with an elderly man with snow-white hair and beard. The old man's surname was Chen, his name Chen Tiansheng. By blood, he was the son of Grandfather Zhao's fourth paternal aunt—his cousin.
More than a century ago, the realm had fallen into chaos. Grandfather Zhao had not yet been born then, and the Zhao Family had been considered a prominent clan in the area. When war came, the family was scattered. By the time the Nine Provinces were united and the realm had only just settled, finding one another had become nearly impossible.
One branch of the Zhao Family—Grandfather Zhao's father and his wife—had fled all the way here as refugees. They had simply stayed, settling down and putting down roots. As for the rest of the Zhao Family, some had died, while others had scattered to the winds.
Unlike the Zhao Family, which had secluded itself in one corner, only Zhao Cheng's uncle had previously managed to make something of himself and gain a little wealth and status. Grandfather Zhao's fourth aunt had been rather fortunate back then, marrying the third son of the Chen Family. The Chen Family had already been a scholarly household in those days, and for centuries, they had wielded no small influence in Qing Province.
Then Chen Tiansheng was born. Gifted with exceptional intelligence from birth, he fought his way through the encirclement step by step. In his forties, he had even served as secretary to a great leader. Though his power had not been great, his position had been anything but low.
Yet such a great figure had traveled thousands of miles during the New Year just to pay respects, sitting with Grandfather Zhao and chatting about family matters, recounting old tales from years gone