Five days had slipped by since the ordeal, yet the memory lingered like frost on the edges of Li Yuntai’s mind. Life in the Li household resumed its familiar rhythm, but beneath the surface, subtle changes had taken root. Yuntai no longer ventured deep into the forest alone. When necessity drove him to its edge, he lingered at the periphery, wary. If he dared to journey further, he did so only in the company of trusted friends or townsfolk. The forest that had once been a source of routine and familiarity now loomed as a silent reminder of forces beyond his understanding.

  At home, Li Xun, his scholarly younger brother, remained a pillar of calm, tending to their ailing mother and watching over their little sister with quiet diligence. His steady presence became the bedrock of the household, filling the gaps Yuntai’s shaken spirit could not. Meanwhile, their father, Li Heng, returned to his duties at the provincial office. Though his steps were as firm as ever and his broad shoulders carried the weight of responsibility with ease, there was a new heaviness in his gaze, the shadow of unspoken fears. The lines of worry on his face, once fleeting, had settled in like permanent etchings.

  Yunshan Province, though modest in size, thrived under the careful governance of Lord Zhao Feng of the esteemed Zhao family. Unlike many noble houses known for exploiting their people, especially during the bitter grip of winter, the Zhao family had earned a reputation for fairness and integrity. They reduced taxes in times of hardship, lent aid during droughts, and fostered a sense of unity among the townsfolk. While other provinces buckled under the greed of corrupt officials, Yunshan stood resilient—a testament to leadership that valued justice over power. Here, even in the coldest seasons, the warmth of compassion endured.

  The southern district of Yunshan Province buzzed with life, even as winter's lingering chill clung to the air. The streets leading to the Zhao Clan Manor were wide and meticulously maintained, their stone paths dusted lightly with melting snow. Though the harshest of winter was beginning to recede, the cold still painted rooftops and tree branches with delicate frost. Merchants and townsfolk bustled about, their breath misting in the crisp air, carts creaking under the weight of goods as they passed through the well-guarded district. The presence of the Zhao clan brought a sense of order and prosperity to this area

  The Zhao Manor itself stood as a testament to the clan's prestige and refined taste. With its sweeping red-tiled roofs and intricate wooden architecture, the estate exuded an air of timeless elegance. The main hall, grand and imposing, rose at the heart of the manor, flanked by smaller, yet equally graceful, side buildings. The walls were adorned with delicate carvings and painted motifs, their vibrant colors standing in stark contrast to the muted tones of winter. A stone path, perfectly aligned and edged with well-tended greenery, led to the imposing front gate, its doors painted a bold crimson.

  Inside the manor walls, the scene was a hive of activity. Maids moved with practiced grace, their light winter robes fluttering as they tended to their duties. Some swept the courtyards, brushing away the thin layer of snow that had settled overnight, while others carried baskets of fresh produce from the storage rooms to the kitchens, their breath visible in the morning air. Near the ornamental gardens, a few maids carefully tended to the plants, ensuring that even in winter, the beauty of the Zhao estate remained unblemished. In the distance, the soft notes of a guqin drifted from one of the pavilions, mingling with the sounds of daily life, as the Zhao clan maintained their serene dominance over Yunshan Province.

  In the back courtyard of the Zhao Clan Manor, a simple yet elegant pond stretched across a quiet corner, its surface partially frozen under winter's lingering touch. Thin sheets of ice shimmered in the soft light, reflecting the muted hues of the sky and the surrounding architecture. Delicate ripples formed where the ice had melted near the edges, revealing dark, still water beneath. A few withered lotus stems, remnants of summer's bloom, stood frozen in time, their brittle forms a quiet testament to the changing seasons. The pond's stone border was dusted with frost, and the air carried a crisp, clean chill, accentuated by the faint rustling of bare branches swaying in the gentle breeze.

  Nestled beside the pond was a simple hexagonal pavilion, its red wooden beams contrasting with the pale winter landscape. The pavilion's sweeping roof was adorned with intricate carvings, its corners slightly curved upward, typical of noble architecture. Despite the season's chill, the pavilion exuded warmth and tranquility. Inside, wooden benches lined the sides, offering a perfect spot for quiet reflection. The soft creak of the pavilion’s wooden floor echoed faintly, blending with the subtle sounds of winter. This serene corner of the Zhao estate was a haven of peace, its simplicity a reflection of refined taste.

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  In the shadowed corner near the pond, a young man sat with an air of quiet composure. He was in his early twenties, his handsome face marked by sharp, elegant features that spoke of noble lineage. His dark hair was neatly tied up in the traditional style of ancient China, held in place by an ornate jade hairpin that glinted subtly in the light. Despite the cold, he wore a pristine white winter coat, its fine fabric and subtle embroidery highlighting his status. The coat draped gracefully over his shoulders, its long sleeves falling perfectly into place as he held a book in his hands.

  Though seated near the pond, the young man’s gaze was not drawn to the frozen water. Instead, his sharp yet calm eyes were fixed on the pages before him, completely absorbed in the text. His expression was one of quiet concentration, the corners of his mouth set in a thoughtful line. The noble dignity that surrounded him was unmistakable, a natural grace that seemed effortless. The tranquil surroundings mirrored his composed demeanor, as if the serene winter landscape existed solely to complement his presence.

  The serene atmosphere of the courtyard remained undisturbed, save for the soft crunch of footsteps against the frost-covered stone pathway. A maid approached the pavilion, her presence blending seamlessly with the tranquil surroundings. She was dressed in the modest yet refined attire typical of noble household servants—an elegant, high-collared robe of muted blue, layered with a simple yet thick overcoat to ward off the winter chill. The fabric, though plain, bore delicate embroidery along the hems, subtle patterns of plum blossoms symbolizing endurance through hardship. A sash cinched at her waist, and her sleeves, though practical, flowed gracefully with each step. Her hair was neatly tied into a bun at the nape of her neck, secured with a simple wooden pin, while a light woolen scarf draped over her shoulders for added warmth.

  Her face, youthful and slightly flushed from the cold, bore a quiet beauty—soft features framed by loose strands of dark hair that had escaped her bun. Despite her delicate appearance, there was a disciplined grace in her posture, a reflection of her training within the noble Zhao household. As she reached the pavilion’s entrance, she paused respectfully, lowering her gaze slightly before stepping onto the wooden floor with measured, silent steps.

  Bowing with practiced ease, she greeted him in the soft, respectful tone reserved for members of the household. “Second Young Master.” Her voice was gentle but clear, carrying just enough weight to draw his attention without disturbing the tranquility of the moment.

  The young man, without lifting his gaze from the book, acknowledged her presence with a slight nod, his sharp features remaining composed, as if expecting the interruption. Sensing the appropriate moment, the maid continued, folding her hands in front of her.

  “The Patriarch requests your presence in the meeting room,” she informed him, her tone formal yet unobtrusive, as was customary in delivering messages of importance within noble families.

  The young man closed his book with deliberate calm, the faint rustle of pages the only sound in the still air. His eyes finally lifted to meet hers, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them. Without a word, he rose gracefully from his seat, his white winter coat falling into place with effortless elegance. The maid stepped back, bowing once more as he exited the pavilion, leaving behind the serene pond and the quiet winter landscape as undisturbed as before.

  The young man rose from his seat in the pavilion, his breath forming faint wisps in the chilly air. He sighed inwardly, tucking the book under his arm as he began making his way through the Zhao manor. His steps were steady and deliberate, his white winter robe brushing softly against the polished stone pathways as he navigated through the maze of courtyards and corridors that made up the grand estate.

  After a few minutes, Zhao Liang arrived at the entrance of the main hall—a structure that exuded a quiet elegance. The hall’s exterior was understated, its simplicity a testament to the Zhao clan's refined taste. Carved wooden beams supported the sweeping roof, and intricate lattice windows allowed the faint winter light to filter through, casting delicate patterns on the ground.

  Standing on either side of the entrance were two guards, their posture rigid, embodying the discipline of noble retainers. They were dressed in dark, thick tunics, layered for the season, each bearing the crest of the Zhao clan embroidered in silver thread on their chests. Swords hung at their waists, the polished hilts catching the dim light. As Zhao Liang approached, both guards bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

  “Second Young Master,” they greeted in unison, their voices firm but respectful. One of them stepped forward, pushing open the heavy wooden door with practiced ease, allowing Zhao Liang to enter.

  Inside, the hall was spacious, its design both simple and majestic. The walls were adorned with scrolls of calligraphy and paintings of serene landscapes, their muted colors blending harmoniously with the polished wooden floors and high ceilings. The air inside was warmer, faintly scented with sandalwood from the incense burning discreetly in the corners.

  At the far end of the hall sat the patriarch, Zhao Wenhai, his presence commanding despite his calm demeanor. He occupied the central seat, an intricately carved wooden chair slightly elevated to signify his status. Flanking him were two elderly men, both appearing to be in their eighties, their weathered faces marked by time and wisdom. They sat with quiet authority to his left. To the right, seated with a composed expression, was Zhao Liang’s elder brother, Zhao Rui, his posture straight, exuding the natural confidence of someone accustomed to leadership.

  Zhao Liang stepped forward, his expression respectful but unreadable. He clasped his hands together and bowed deeply, his voice steady as he greeted them in the formal manner befitting the occasion.

  “This unworthy one greets Father, Elders, and Elder Brother.”

  Zhao Wenhai’s sharp gaze met his son’s before softening slightly. He gestured toward an empty seat near his brother. “Zhao Liang, take a seat.” His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority, leaving no room for question.

  Zhao Liang nodded silently, moving to the designated seat with measured grace, his mind already bracing for the purpose behind this unexpected summons.