But Pei Ye turned his head, his gaze momentarily dazed. From his angle, the first thing he saw was the old man's half-white hair. Though neatly groomed, it still showed traces of dryness and disarray. The former was the fullness drained away by age; the latter was clear evidence that the old man's strength had waned, leaving him unable to tie it tightly and smooth it down.
Looking farther down, he saw that the official robe had grown slightly crooked in places with age, and the wrinkles on the old man's face looked soft and slack. For a man of sixty, he could still be called upright and hale, but he was no longer the blade-straight figure in Pei Ye's memory.
For the ignorant boy who had suffered that sudden upheaval, this figure had been his most dependable pillar through those two dark, oppressive days, as hard as iron. Only now did he discover that it, too, had many places of slackness and weakness.
For a moment, Pei Ye suddenly felt as though he had grown taller again. But perhaps, after all the upheaval and toil, the old man's back had acquired a slight stoop.
Then he remembered that the old man before him had neither family nor children. And now, those familiar friends and colleagues were gone as well. During the night rain a few days ago, the old man had lain alone in bed, thinking who knew what.
And so, "I wanted to come see you."
Pei Ye felt a little sad and edged closer to the old man. He knew he could only keep him company for a few days, and once he left for the Divine Capital, there was no knowing whether he would ever return.
Chang Zhiyuan had no idea what Pei Ye was thinking.