Now he stood in the same spot. The grand armchair behind the desk was empty, the gray robe draped over its back covered in a thin layer of dust. He looked at the robe and felt nothing in particular.
No hatred, no resentment, and no longing. He was merely a transmigrator. This body's original owner had been Shen Hong's son, but he was not. He felt no bond of father and son toward Shen Hong, and never had from the day he arrived in this world.
Everything he had done-dismantling the Dark Guild's network, pulling out the nails it had planted in the city, turning against Shen Hong, and dragging the Sacred Family back from that path-had been for Glory City, for the people he had failed to protect in his previous life.
He reached out and brushed the desktop, his fingertips skimming the velvet cloth and picking up a thin layer of dust.
He wiped his fingers on his trouser leg, then turned and walked over to the low table at the side of the study.
It was the same low table where he used to sit while organizing the ledgers. Both the tabletop and the chair were empty. He pulled out the chair and sat down, leaning against its back and facing the desk.
The study was quiet. Birdsong drifted through the half-open window in intermittent bursts, with an occasional clear call, though most of it was soft, scattered chirping.
He sat at the low table, looking at the empty grand armchair behind the desk and thinking about what he needed to do today.
The Second Elder probably wanted to see him about the clan affairs that had piled up. He had been away for a month and a half. Purchasing accounts, trade route coordination, personnel assignments, inventory