Wang Shi hurriedly said: “Your Fifth Grand-Uncle is still ill. Tomorrow, all the families will come to send additional dowry gifts, and the day after is the main ceremony. I’m afraid your Fifth Grand-Uncle won’t make it in time. How about you select someone else to preside over the wedding?”

Zhao Hanzhang: “I was hoping to use this joyous event to make Fifth Grand-Uncle happy. Perhaps once he’s happy, he’ll think things through. How can we change the wedding presider at the last minute?”

The main issue was she really couldn’t find anyone suitable.

Ji Yuan and Ming Yu and the others were all unsuitable. The three most suitable were Zhao Song, Zhao Ming, and Zhao Cheng…

Zhao Ming was in Yuzhou. As for Zhao Cheng… Zhao Hanzhang was satisfied with him, but Wang Shi didn’t agree, and the clan relatives among the Zhao family also felt Zhao Cheng wasn’t good.

At least Zhao Ming had enjoyed marital harmony and conjugal bliss. But Zhao Cheng…

Having him preside over the wedding—wasn’t that cursing Zhao Hanzhang and Fu Tinghan?

All the clan relatives who had any say disagreed. Even Zhao Cheng himself thought Zhao Hanzhang’s brain was damaged to think of having him preside over the wedding.

Therefore, in all of Luoyang, Zhao Song was still the most suitable.

No matter from which perspective.

Wang Shi frowned and thought for a moment, then could only accept it: “I also sent someone to invite Fifth Uncle today, but the servants at the mansion said he went out of the city to recuperate.”

Zhao Hanzhang was startled and frowned slightly: “Why leave the city to recuperate?”

“To clear his mind. Didn’t you all say Fifth Uncle has a heart ailment?” Although Wang Shi didn’t understand what heart ailment Zhao Song had that made him so severely ill, if it was unhappiness in his heart, going out was the best solution.

In the past, when she was bullied by the second branch, she often liked to go burn incense at Taoist temples and Buddhist monasteries. It wasn’t that she was particularly devout—she simply didn’t want to see those people in the residence. Going out to clear her mind, even just seeing the wild grass by the roadside, was happier than looking at those precious flowers in the residence.

When one’s heart wasn’t happy, going out might not immediately cure it, but at least it wouldn’t get worse.

Zhao Hu carefully observed Zhao Song’s face. Seeing his complexion had improved, he said cheerfully: “How about it? I told you—outside is much more comfortable than home. You’re always lying down. Even if you’re not sick, you’d develop illness from lying around so much. Besides, you are sick.”

Zhao Song pulled his cape tighter and glanced at Zhao Shen riding alongside on horseback, saying faintly: “I think you’re deliberately tormenting Shen. This phrase ‘outside is more comfortable than home’ doesn’t sound like something you’d say.”

Zhao Hu: “Just tell me—is your heart a bit more cheerful?”

Zhao Song looked out the window and sighed: “It’s going to snow. Does the place we’re staying tonight have enough charcoal? I have to return to the city early the day after tomorrow to preside over the wedding ceremony—I can’t get cold.”

“Snow?” Zhao Hu stuck his head out to look at the sky, doubtfully: “The sun is so bright, not a cloud for miles—how would it snow?”

Zhao Song extended his hand to point to one side, remaining silent.

Zhao Hu looked for a while, then said: “That’s on the horizon. Although it’s gray, it doesn’t look like movable clouds. Fifth Brother, you’re overthinking it.”

Zhao Song opened his mouth to speak, but Zhao Hu was already rattling on: “If you ask me, your illness comes from overthinking. We’re at this age—we should be drinking heartily, doing whatever makes us happy each day. Otherwise, in a few years we won’t be able to enjoy ourselves and will directly pass on.”

“I don’t know if ghosts and spirits truly exist in this world. Of course, I believe they do—that way, when I’m underground, I can still live in gold and jade luxury. But what if they don’t exist?” Zhao Hu became unhappy at this thought. He hoped for ghosts and spirits so he could continue enjoying life after becoming a ghost. “So to guard against that possibility, we should enjoy ourselves early and not waste our time.”

Zhao Song had a belly full of words that got stuck and couldn’t come out. He said irritably: “If ghosts and spirits exist, which level of hell do you think you’ll be sent to?”

Zhao Hu spat twice: “I won’t go to hell. I’ll just be a wealthy gentleman in the underworld. Even if Zitu doesn’t respect me, he won’t skimp on the annual offerings. Besides, there’s still Zheng’er. I have money in the mortal world, so I’ll definitely have money in the netherworld!”

Zhao Hu was proud and self-satisfied. Zhao Shen rode back and said to the two in the carriage: “Grandfather, Seventh Grand-Uncle, it’s probably going to snow tonight. Are we really spending the night outside?”

Zhao Song looked at Zhao Hu with a light, floating gaze.

When one person said it would snow, even if that person was his somewhat respected Fifth Brother, Zhao Hu didn’t believe it. But if a second person also definitively said it would snow without prior communication, then even if the other party was a nephew-grandson he disliked, Zhao Hu had to believe.

So he seriously pondered: “The villa has everything—keeping warm isn’t a problem. Staying for ten days or half a month wouldn’t be an issue either. But if the snow is heavy, it’ll be difficult to return to the city the day after tomorrow, right?”

Zhao Song had someone stop the carriage. Supporting himself on an attendant’s hand, he walked out. Zhao Shen quickly dismounted to help him down.

Zhao Song stood at the roadside, gazing at the gray-black horizon, then closed his eyes to feel the wind’s speed. After a long while, he said slowly: “Don’t worry. This snowfall won’t be heavy.”

Having said that, he didn’t want to get back in the carriage and instead supported himself on Zhao Shen’s hand, walking slowly forward.

Zhao Hu sat on the carriage shaft. Having the driver urge the horse forward, he caught up: “Fifth Brother, you’re still sick. Won’t you get in the carriage?”

Zhao Song waved him off.

Zhao Hu shrank his neck, feeling cold. So after glancing at a servant, someone immediately brought a fox fur cape to drape over him. Bundling up his clothes, he sat on the carriage shaft slowly following Zhao Song’s shuffling pace, constantly lecturing Zhao Shen: “Shen’er, why don’t you advise your grandfather? In such cold weather, if he catches a chill and gets sick, what then? You’re just not as attentive as Zheng’er. Although he’s younger than you, he’s read more books and is kinder as a person…”

Zhao Shen automatically filtered out his words, only asking Zhao Song: “Grandfather, can you still walk?”

Zhao Song: “I’m only ill, not about to die.”

Zhao Shen grinned: “Then we’ll walk. Before leaving, I cast a divination—this journey will bring Grandfather a fortuitous encounter, and your heart ailment will be cured.”

Zhao Song couldn’t help but glare at him: “Don’t let your father know you’ve been playing with turtle shells again, or he’ll break your hands.”

This father and son were at opposite extremes. Zhao Ming’s philosophy was “the gentleman does not speak of strange powers and chaotic spirits,” keeping a respectful distance. Zhao Shen, on the other hand, had plunged right in, actively seeking ghosts and spirits.

It gave Zhao Song endless headaches.

Thinking of this, Zhao Song felt stifled in his heart again. He felt he must have committed evil deeds in his previous life—otherwise, how could he have such a father-son pair, and encounter someone like Zhao Hanzhang as a nephew-granddaughter?

Simply unsatisfying in every way.

Zhao Song immersed himself in his own thoughts, becoming unaware of time’s passage. Fortunately, the place where he’d gotten out of the carriage wasn’t far from Zhao Hu’s estate. After walking this stretch, they would descend the slope. Zhao Hu’s villa was built on the hillside, facing a stretch of fields that were all his, forming one large estate.

The estate had irrigation ditches. Of such a vast estate, only about twenty mu had been planted with wheat—not because he was unwilling to plant more, but because he couldn’t recruit enough people.

To plant even these twenty mu, he’d hired short-term workers at high wages.

With such a large estate, he’d recruited very few tenant farmers. In the end, he’d spent a fortune buying servants.

Every time Zhao Hu calculated this cost, his heart ached.

—