"Crackling!"
The sound of raindrops shattered the peace inside the carriage. Su Ziji leaned against his seat in silence, his expression somewhat wooden, while Wild Daoist sat as stiff as a wooden puppet.
Looking out in all directions, he saw the fine rain falling in sheets, shrouding the near and distant pavilions and streets completely. The spring rain was still biting, and in ancient times, getting caught in the rain carried a high probability of death, leaving the streets sparsely populated and very quiet.
Seeing Su Ziji gazing at the rainy scenery with eyes full of lingering grief, wearing an expression that seemed both sorrowful and joyful, neither Wild Daoist nor Xie Hongdao dared to disturb him, standing by in blank dismay.
It was not known how much time had passed before Su Ziji was finally heard sighing softly and chanting.
Searching for a swordsman for thirty years, how many times have fallen leaves sprouted branches anew?
Ever since a single glimpse of peach blossoms, right up to the present day, there are no more doubts.
Su Ziji chanted very slowly, every word and line seeming exceptionally heavy. Even though Xie Hongdao was suffering persecution, he could not help but feel pity for him. The wealth and honor of an Imperial Grandson were beyond reach, yet it was so difficult to possess the affection of a father and ancestors, while he himself at least still had living parents.
Wild Daoist felt even more as though he had been struck by a thousand-jin heavy hammer—the ancestry of his lord was tragic to this extent!
Thinking of how the Crown Prince had died back then and his entire household exterminated, with someone carrying the lord, who was still in swaddling clothes, to flee for safety, traveling thousands of miles to arrive at