Xu Guangting died.
It was not a death by illness, but a natural demise.
He had a meal, played with his grandson, drank a bowl of lotus seed soup before going to sleep, and then he slept deeply, never to wake up again.
There weren't any last words, and those around him didn't have time to react.
He was eighty-three years old.
Xu Yong, too, was now fifty-seven years old, an old man who may have been overworked or perhaps it was Xu Guangting's death that triggered something; he had been hospitalized a few days before.
"I need to go to the Capital City," Xu Xuan said.
The death of his father left him with an indescribable feeling in his heart. The father of this world was also his biological father, even if there had been conflicts between them in the past, those were all in the past now.
Regrettably, he hadn't seen him one last time.
