Han Zhengqing thought for quite a while but couldn’t recall who exactly the person before him was. Yet the inexplicable light flowing in the other person’s eyes was inexplicably familiar.

After a very long time, he finally remembered—it seemed that over a decade ago, there had also been such a child by his side, whose eyes would light up whenever they saw him.

Not knowing if it was because he hadn’t rested for too long and his brain couldn’t quite turn, he retreated several steps backward and stumbled into a chair. Lowering his head in great confusion, the more he looked the more familiar it seemed, yet he couldn’t remember anything. His brain felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton, soaked with water until it was heavy, preventing him from thinking anything through clearly.

Not until this extraordinarily familiar person before him pulled the corners of his mouth upward, revealing what could even be called an eerie smile, and called out to him: “Father.”

Only then did he finally realize in shock exactly who this person standing there like a wooden post was.

Han Zhi! The cotton in his brain seemed to be instantly pulled out. His back broke out in cold sweat. In a flash like lightning and flint, he seemed to understand many, many things, yet also seemed to remain in muddy chaos knowing nothing at all. For the first time in his life, he became afraid.

He didn’t know why he should be afraid. He had never believed in ghosts and spirits or reincarnation. Back when Little Madam Fan cursed him and Big Madam Fan, she would often tell them that the gods watched from three feet above. He had always scoffed at this. If gods truly watched from three feet above, would there be so many injustices in this world? Simply ridiculous.

But now, a person who should have been long dead suddenly stood before him, and he recalled those words again. The gods watched from three feet above—then, the Han Zhi before him… was he still the same son as before?

Han Zhi pulled off the cap on his head in one motion, turned his neck and moved his muscles and bones, then very leisurely leaned against the table and stood there. The corners of his mouth turned upward rapidly as he spoke: “What, frightened senseless?”

As he spoke, he picked up a piece of paper from the table without any scruples and looked at it: “This doesn’t seem like the Marquis’s style. What kind of person is the Marquis? Someone who dares to rebel and collude with Tatars—one could say you have heaven-defying abilities. How could you be afraid? Didn’t you used to love saying one phrase: ‘When encountering gods, slay gods; when encountering Buddhas, slay Buddhas’? Even if I really am a ghost now, you shouldn’t fear me.”

Han Zhengqing’s mind was somewhat chaotic. His lips trembled but he didn’t speak.

He truly didn’t know what to say. This was his first child. His first wife had died without bearing him children—she had been poisoned to death by Big Madam Fan. No, actually he also had a share in it. He had clearly known, yet still indulged Big Madam Fan in doing so.

So Han Zhi was truly and definitely his first child.

Though he didn’t believe in gods, Buddhas, or ghosts, toward a child who carried his own blood, he truly couldn’t remain indifferent. In the few months after Han Zhi was first born, he had even cast Big Madam Fan aside.

The pain of previously seeking Big Madam Fan but being unable to obtain her seemed to be instantly healed. The child’s innocent smiling face, his eyes bright beyond measure—each one struck his soft spots.

At that time he was even thinking that actually not obtaining Big Madam Fan wasn’t that important. Little Madam Fan was also a cousin and had borne him a child. He had felt somewhat relieved at that time, feeling he had let go of his obsession, that if he lived well in the future his entire life would become lighter.

No one had anticipated that Little Madam Fan would try to smother the child to death because he was too close to the child. He was furious. At that time it was still Big Madam Fan who thought of a way to find a wet nurse and assigned useful maids to Han Zhi. Later he still attempted to be close to his son and daughter, and Little Madam Fan tried to poison them then commit suicide. If Big Madam Fan hadn’t found a famous physician, the children’s lives would have been lost long ago.

With such things happening again and again, he finally completely lost patience and began to disregard Little Madam Fan entirely. Following Big Madam Fan’s words, he seized the opportunity to take over his father’s position, came to Datong to garrison, and began serving as Big Madam Fan’s vanguard.

What one cannot obtain, one wants all the more. Moreover, Big Madam Fan was always distant yet close, near yet far with him. Gradually, he finally cast aside Little Madam Fan who feared him like a venomous snake and scorpion.

He didn’t much remember these past events, thinking he had completely forgotten them. But now with his son standing before him, he realized he had never forgotten at all.

His throat was somewhat dry. After a long while he finally spoke, calling out: “Ah Zhi…”

This was the childhood name Little Madam Fan had called before her death. In her entire life, Little Madam Fan had only called it these few sparse times. Han Zhi laughed once, this laugh carrying complete mockery: “You actually still know my name. How rare.”

After saying “how rare,” he naturally didn’t truly find it rare. Folding his arms and looking down at him from a superior position, his brows furrowed into a strange arc: “Dongping said if you deleted my name from the family register and scattered my ashes, he would acknowledge you as father. Did you do it?”

Han Zhengqing froze, not understanding what Han Zhi was saying.

Only now did he belatedly wake up. Why was Han Zhi still alive? How could Han Zhi mention the Prince of Dongping? How could Dongping have written a letter?

Dongping wrote a letter? Dongping had written a letter to him?

He was stunned. When he opened his mouth, the first thing he asked was actually: “Dongping wrote you a letter? When did this happen?”

Even if heaven were to collapse, it couldn’t prevent him from thinking of the Prince of Dongping. Han Zhi’s heart instantly became cold and hard as a knife. He mockingly pulled at the corners of his mouth: “Why don’t you ask me how I didn’t die?”

Han Zhengqing was stunned once again, not knowing how to answer. He looked at him in shock, wanting to speak but saying nothing at all.

His thoughts had never been this chaotic before. The impact brought by a son returning from the dead was truly too great. He could no longer think normally.

But even so, the Prince of Dongping who had been carved into his heart and had already become his inner demon could not be forgotten. He had almost instinctively asked about the Prince of Dongping’s affairs.

Han Zhi sneered. The weight of this son compared to the Prince of Dongping in Han Zhengqing’s heart was clear at a glance. He lost interest, no longer having the heart to continue being evasive and diplomatic with this man before him called father.

Han Zhengqing walked several steps closer to him, as if only now thoroughly accepting the fact that he was truly alive. Opening his mouth wide, he asked: “How are you still alive? Then where have you been all these years?”

He had many questions he urgently wanted to ask. He didn’t know why his son could return from the dead, didn’t understand why he could still find his way here.

The court had already issued proclamations. How could someone whose household registration had been deleted appear again?

Han Zhi stared at him and smiled, a smile that made one’s hair stand on end and heart turn cold. He moved his lips lightly: “Do you know why Prince Gong suddenly withdrew his troops?”

This question completely nailed Han Zhengqing in place. He looked at Han Zhi in disbelief, eyes wide, unable to speak a single word.