While Zhao Changhe was subtly investigating the situation here, Yue Hongling had returned to her homeland, adorned in brocade.
She had left Luoxia Manor at the age of fifteen, and now, at twenty-two, was soon to turn twenty-three after the New Year.
Having been away from home for seven or eight years, even someone as carefree as Yue Hongling couldn't help feeling a pang of apprehension as she approached her hometown. The plants and trees here seemed unrecognizable.
The closer she got to the manor, the more unfamiliar it became.
What had once been a rather small estate of no more than a dozen disciples, with old bricks and roof tiles everywhere, managed thriftily by the master's wife, resembled an ordinary, large farming household.
