Early morning.
The Yang Family's courtyard residence.
Before dawn had broken, the powerful leader, accustomed to rising early to handle documents, slowly opened his eyes.
It had been his habit for many years.
No matter how Guotai Min'an fought among themselves in daily life, they absolutely deserved the words "devoting themselves utterly until their dying breath."
All four old geezers had exhausted themselves for the Dragon Kingdom.
Perhaps some of their subordinates had dirty hands, but at least the four of them had clear consciences.
A faint fragrance of tea drifted over, and Yang Huaimin looked toward the open door with a kindly expression.
In the study next door, his son was boiling water.
Ordinary-looking and dressed in clothes he had worn for at least three years, he was concentrating on fanning the charcoal fire.
"Pan'er."
Yang Huaimin coughed softly, picked up the pill beside his bed, and put it in his mouth.
His son looked up. At the sight of his father's slightly pale face, pain flickered across his expression before he replaced it with a smile. "Father, you're awake."
"I'm getting old. I sleep lightly." Yang Huaimin draped a coat over his shoulders and walked out of the room.
Seeing everything familiar on the table, he felt an inexplicable warmth in his heart.
He had a chronic ailment caused by an old injury.
Every morning when he rose, his lungs felt as though they were burning, and he needed some tea to ease the pain.
"What brings you home today? Don't you have work?"
Pan'er was Yang Huaimin's only son. To avoid any appearance of impropriety, he did not work within the government system.
Instead, he worked as a researcher at a scientific institute, specializing in agriculture.
That was why his clothes were always dirty.
"There's not much