He called out from afar:
"The Crown Prince is right. How could we not welcome a man of merit?"
He walked at an unhurried pace, wearing his usual refined, gracious manner. "On this mission, Young Master Fan not only displayed Qing's martial might but also inherited Zhuang Mohan's literary legacy. He is destined to shoulder the literary world's great cauldron in the future. It is an honor for us brothers to welcome him."
Fan Xian could still force a faint smile for the Crown Prince, but facing the Second Prince, he had little desire to pretend.
Li Chengze had caused him no shortage of trouble on the journey back to the capital.
His face remained expressionless as he merely nodded at him.
The so-called literary legacy Li Chengze mentioned was actually Zhuang Mohan's collection.
After arriving in Northern Qi, he had met Zhuang Mohan once more in Shangjing City.
By the time the old man returned to Northern Qi, his oil had run dry and his lamp was guttering. Only a single obsession kept him clinging to life.
With Xiao En dying at the hands of Ku He's eldest disciple, Lang Tao, Zhuang Mohan had ultimately failed to see his younger brother one last time and closed his eyes with endless regret.
Before his death, he had left Fan Xian the collection he had treasured all his life. To others, this was the passing down of a literary grandmaster's mantle.
Fan Xian knew what Zhuang Mohan and the others had in mind, but he knew his own circumstances.
He could do little more than recite a few poems. He could not even write properly. What the hell kind of literary legacy could he inherit?
But he could not explain it, and even if he did, no one would believe him.