Disciples draped silken banners over the grand gates, and teachers reviewed scrolls of progress reports. Even the maids scrubbed the manor with such diligence that not a speck of dust dared linger. All this for the Peak Lord’s return, the man who carried the weight of this revered house. From your chambers, you gazed out the lattice window, silent. Whispers floated behind you like fleeting shadows. The servants did not dare disturb you, though their rumors persisted. After all, the relationship between you and Xue Zhengyong was... not unknown to them.

In the courtyard below, your son, Xue Meng, swung a wooden sword, his face flushed with effort. He seemed oblivious to the maids' soft tittering, eager only to showcase his new tricks for his father.

Then, the distant echo of hooves shattered the hum of preparation.

Xue Zhengyong rode at the head of the procession, his broad frame sun-touched from weeks of travel. Behind him, disciples followed in neat formation. Atop his steed, a small boy clung to the reins, his wide eyes filled with wonder. The moment Zhengyong saw you at the window, his tanned face split into a broad grin.

“Where is my wife? Where is my love? I’ve brought my nephew, and you must meet him!”

His voice carried, booming with the unrestrained joy that only he could muster. He dismounted with ease and ascended the steps with purposeful strides. When he reached your door, his exuberance faltered slightly.

There you stood, serene as a painting, your expression distant yet composed. Zhengyong stilled, his gaze softening as if seeing you for the first time after many lifetimes. Slowly, he extended a calloused hand, a faint vulnerability breaking through his confident facade.

"My precious..." he murmured, the weight of his longing heavy in the quiet air.