"Three years." He muttered to himself, and suddenly with a flick of his wrist, the rust on the sword fell off, revealing the bright gleam of the blade.

Hong Yingrong took out a set of coarse cloth clothes from the bottom of the box: "Master, it's time to change clothes."

Xue Yonghuai watched his wife skillfully tie up her hair into a bun and insert a wooden hairpin. How could she look like a lady from a marquis's mansion?

"Ma'am..." His voice was choked.

Hong Yingrong tied his belt and said softly, "Let's go. It's time to go see our son."

Outside the courtyard, an unassuming green-covered carriage was ready. Zhou Zhen, wearing a bamboo hat, flicked his whip and said, "Master, everything is arranged."

Xue Yonghuai took a last look at his ancestral home. In the heavy rain, the century-old house was like a dormant beast.

"Set off."

The carriage slowly drove out of the Xue family's ancestral home and disappeared into the rain. The ruts were quickly washed away by the rain, as if no one had ever been there.

Three days later, at the west gate of the capital.

The soldiers guarding the city lazily checked the pass: "Where did it come from?"

"From the north." Zhou Zhen smiled and handed over a bag of copper coins. "I'm sending the old lady back to the capital."

The soldier weighed his money bag and casually lifted the curtain. Inside the carriage sat a gray-haired old woman, with a weather-beaten old servant beside her.

"Let's go." The soldier waved his hand.

The carriage slowly entered the capital. As it passed the Xingyuan Marquis's residence, the curtains moved slightly. Xue Yonghuai's sharp eyes swept across the stone lions in front of the mansion gate—there, a familiar figure was climbing the stairs.

Xue Jiyan was wearing the official uniform of the Hanlin Academy, and his back was as straight as a pine tree.