What was rare was that the old man still had a pot of old wine.
He took it out to entertain Yang Fei and Lin Xueyi.
Lin Xueyi felt a pang of sadness in her heart, she hurriedly ate a bowl of rice and was full.
Yang Fei, however, drank two large bowls of wine with the old man.
Both were equally overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and pain, yet neither spoke of it.
The old man was also a martial artist, with the forthrightness and tenacity of one who practiced Martial Arts.
After a few bowls of wine, he managed to suppress the sorrow that lay heavy in his heart.
At least on the surface, the old man seemed to have accepted the fact of his son's sacrifice.
However, Yang Fei knew that such pain would never go away.
It would torment the old man, torment the whole family, in the long years to come.
The old man brought up some trivial matters of daily life, chatting with Yang Fei.
Yang Fei paid attention to the old man's words, quietly noting the family's hardships in his heart.
