Zhao's Valley.
At the Ancestral Mansion.
The peach blossoms were still in full bloom, the fragrance floating in the courtyard, and the pink petals scattered all over by the wind.
Under the tree.
Patriarch Zhao lay on a rocking chair, with Yu Xian sitting next to him, leisurely admiring the flowers, as if everything had returned to when they first met.
But upon closer look, one could see that Patriarch Zhao's face was withered, his once delicate skin now full of wrinkles, and his once shiny white hair had lost all its luster, as if he had aged forty or fifty years in an instant.
His figure was even more frail, with his once-fitting robes now empty, looking as if they were wrapped around a skeleton.
He had aged and had become extremely weak.
The injuries from that night had caused severe damage to his body, and had not been properly treated to this day.
