The sunlight was like molten gold, slowly flowing across the ground.
The young girl spurred her horse onward, full of vigor and vitality, racing towards the sunlight as if she were a golden War God.
Behind her, Lady Jiang clung tightly to the doorframe, her eyes vacant, dazed, she was even beyond tears.
How similar this scene was.
Just like a certain day more than a decade ago, when JIANG Haiping led his troops northward; she had gone to see him off but had only welcomed back his corpse.
And her nine sons, each one had promised before departing that once the war was over, they would return to spend their twilight years in her company.
But as Ancestor Chunyuan once prophesied—
When the nine sons of the Jiang family left, none returned.
One by one, the coffins flooded the Marshal's Mansion.
Now, that day had come again.
Watching JIANG Zhaoyue, Lady Jiang also smiled, and said softly, "Good, your mother will wait for your return."
