Lang Jiuchuan’s return to the manor had certainly left the Lang family wide-eyed, but it did not attract a great deal of attention from the adults. Lang Zhengping, as the new family head, was especially occupied — he was busy managing every aspect of his late father’s funeral, and his thoughts were fixed far more on the future of his household and the family’s prospects.

The title of Marquis Kaiping had originally been granted as a hereditary title by the founding emperor of the Great Phan dynasty, meant to pass down in perpetuity without reduction. Yet by the generation of the late Marquis Lang, it had all gone wrong — the family had backed the wrong side during the struggle for the imperial throne under the previous emperor, and had been made to pay for it. The title itself was not stripped away, but the inheritance was changed from perpetual to the descending system, reduced by rank with each generation. And so from Lang Zhengping onward, the title would diminish generation by generation, unless some talented member of the family earned great merit and managed to restore the perpetual inheritance.

The Lang family had already begun slipping to the margins during the previous emperor’s reign. Fortunately, that reign had not lasted long before he passed, and when the current emperor ascended the throne, there happened to be incursions along the northern border from the nomadic tribes. The second son of the Lang family, Lang Zhengfan, had enlisted early and accumulated enough military merit to rise to the rank of Anbei General of the Fourth Grade — a sign that the Lang family’s fortunes might be recovering. But it was not to last. Lang Zhengfan died in his prime, and not one of the Lang family’s young men could take up his mantle.

Now, more than a decade later, the only member of the Lang family who had held court attendance had been the now-deceased Marquis. Lang Zhengping, though the heir, had secured only a minor post at the Fifth Grade subordinate rank — not even of sufficient standing to attend court. And in the provinces, there was only the illegitimate third son, Lang Zhengwen, a county magistrate at the Seventh Grade, who had only a juren examination degree to his name and was now also observing mourning leave.

So in the three years to come, the Lang family would be in its darkest hour. If the title could be successfully inherited, there would be a chance at revival later. If not, the Lang family would truly be finished.

The late Marquis must have seen this coming. Otherwise, why would he have pushed his aged body to its limits, seeking to cultivate connections and relationships for the sake of his sons and grandchildren?

This was also why Lang Zhengping had no time to spare for a returned niece — he had weightier concerns, matters that touched upon the family’s very fate and fortune.

Elder Zhao was one of the key connections he needed to court and cultivate — yet after only a single exchange, Lang Jiuchuan had already caused a direct affront, cutting right to his face. Though Lang Zhengping was furious in his heart, he had no choice but to help clean up the mess. He personally selected a rare, one-of-a-kind volume from his private collection and had his trusted steward, Gao Cheng, deliver it as an apology.

He was still counting on Elder Zhao to help smooth things along so that his father’s funeral could be handled properly — and then, once that was settled, he could plan for what came after. If the current emperor saw fit to grant a posthumous honor, then there would be nothing to worry about.

As it happened, Elder Zhao had barely returned home when the apology gift from the Lang family arrived at his door.

Since the Lang family was in mourning and Gao Cheng was their servant, he did not enter the residence — he knelt briefly at the gate, presented the rare volume, and departed.

Elder Zhao took the volume and leafed through it, then exhaled a long sigh.

He understood what his young acquaintance Lang Zhengping meant by this gesture, and he knew full well the awkward position the Lang family now found themselves in. If the second Lang son had lived, the military merits he had been steadily accumulating would have carried him upward, and the family might well have re-entered the inner circle of power — perhaps even earned a second marquis title within one household, if fortune had favored them.

But the second Lang son had died young — worse still, at the very time he died, the next generation of Lang men had all been young children. There was a true gap in talent, a real break in the chain.

As for the old Marquis, he had held court access but no real power — merely attending sessions on occasion. More than a decade had now passed, and the Lang family was simply waiting for a chance to turn their fate around.

His old friend had not failed to write to him seeking help, and now that old friend was gone. The Lang family’s position was more precarious than ever. He had been thinking that when the time came, he would do what he could — at the very least, he would see to it that Lang Zhengping could inherit the title without obstacle. With a title still in hand, there would at least be some basis for future maneuvering.

But inexplicably, a pair of eyes surfaced in his mind — black and fathomless — along with the words she had spoken.

Boom.

A great crack of thunder split the air.

Elder Zhao gave a violent start, his heart lurching and thudding wildly. He raised his eyes and looked out the window.

When thunder cracks in winter, graves fill the land.

The sky — heavy and black — had darkened without his noticing. It hung over everything like an omen.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Footsteps seemed to approach from a great distance, heavy and edged with urgency.

Elder Zhao gripped the rare volume tightly in his hands and stared fixedly at the doorway. Someone burst through — his eldest son, Zhao Kun, snow still wind-blown across his head, stumbling up to him and dropping his voice low.

“Father — out at Mojia Village on the western outskirts — the farmhouse of Old Farmer Mo has burned down.” Zhao Kun’s voice was rough and low. “The villagers put out the fire and pulled five bodies from the wreckage. It was Old Farmer Mo’s entire family. I have confirmed it — the child was indeed of the Mo household…”

So the child was truly from the Mo family. Which meant the other one — the one using the Mo child’s identity — had fled. Even they did not know where he had gone, nor whose identity he now wore. And the one who set that fire…

Clap.

The rare volume slipped from Elder Zhao’s hands and fell to the floor.

The one saved was not meant to be saved. A life for a life — and that life would be his to pay.

Elder Zhao’s body folded in on itself in an instant.