The backyard hummed with its usual comings and goings, while the front hall buzzed with lively activity.
Today, the Duke’s Mansion was more crowded than ever. Every guest who arrived hailed from families of renown at court as after the return of the great General it is his appearnce infront of the capital .
The men were ushered into the front hall, and the women were guided to the flower hall (a space traditionally adorned with seasonal blossoms, often used in aristocratic households for hosting female guests).
Servants scurried attentively, offering refreshments and attending to every need, while the guests smiled politely, displaying the decorum expected of the nobility.
Although Duke Shang was slightly frail, he could still manage such occasions. With Silang and Qilang at his side, he navigated the gathering with ease. Yet Shang Ji had little patience for these formalities.
If he had not to inspire Ping’er with his courage and determination to begin anew, he would scarcely have cared about appearing in the front hall at all.
People, after all, admired strength—and gravitated toward it.
Even though Shang Ji carried an aura that warned strangers to keep their distance, there was still a ripple of anticipation whenever he appeared. Unsurprisingly, he was soon surrounded by officials and generals—some mere acquaintances, others familiar only by reputation.
Shang Ji, ever mindful of propriety, always brought his nephew Shang Zhiping to greet each visitor. At first shy, the boy gradually grew more confident, speaking politely to each guest. Most of the visitors were accompanied by their children or grandchildren. Seeing how much Shang Ji cherished his nephew, these young heirs refrained from looking down upon Shang Zhiping—at least outwardly.
The harmonious scene, however, stirred a twinge of envy in Shang Zhihe, who observed from a short distance.
Shang Qilang noticed his nephew’s displeasure and offered gentle comfort.
“He’er, don’t constantly compare yourself with others. You already have much to be proud of.”
“Seventh Uncle, I wish everyone’s attention could be mine, but it isn’t.”
Though young, his eyes gleamed with ambition—a hunger for recognition that seemed almost inherited. Shang Qilang pondered: it could not have come from his fourth brother, nor from his fourth sister-in-law. Soon, he realized the source.
“Great-grandfather! Grandfather! Uncle! Here!”
Shang Zhihe’s voice rang out as he greeted the newly arrived Wei family from a distance.
The three members of the Wei family—young and old—looked toward the Duke’s Mansion and smiled warmly upon seeing Shang Qilang and Shang Zhihe. Shang Zhihe then took his uncle by the arm to make proper introductions.
“Grandson greets grandfather, uncle, and cousin.”
“He greets great-grandfather, grandfather, and uncle.”
“Very well. You are all good children; no need for such formalities.”
The speaker was Wei Taiwei, now in his seventies but still vigorous. His eyes sparkled, and his face radiated vitality. His gray hair was neatly tied, and his posture remained straight—free from the stoop that age often brings.
Flanking him were his son, Wei Mingxian, and grandson, Wei Jiaheng. The resemblance between father and son was striking, the difference lying only in their years. Wei Mingxian, a deputy commander, exuded strength and authority—his military skill apparent in every gesture.
Wei Jiaheng, by contrast, carried the air of a dandy. Though not close to Shang Qilang, he shared a lively camaraderie with Shang Zhihe. As soon as he arrived, Shang Zhihe bounded over.
“Uncle! Uncle!”
The affectionate tone was so natural that onlookers might have assumed Wei Jiaheng was his father, not his uncle.
“Look! What treasures have I brought you?”
Wei Jiaheng produced a finely crafted mahogany slingshot, inlaid with jewels and painted with delicate motifs. Its rubber band was made from tiger tendons—a material prized for both strength and resilience—allowing stones or marbles to be hurled great distances. Though small, it was a costly and coveted item.
Shang Zhihe’s eyes lit up, with excitement shining on his youthful face. It was as if he had been handed a prized weapon.
“Uncle, take me to try it! There’s a forest nearby with birds—we can test it properly.”
“Alright, lead the way,” Wei Jiaheng replied, smiling.
Shang Qilang, however, felt uneasy at the suggestion. “Today is my father’s birthday. It’s hardly appropriate to see bloodshed. He’er, please behave.”
Shang Zhihe frowned at his uncle’s interference. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I know my limits. It’s just practice—it won’t endanger anyone.”
Ignoring the assembled guests, he happily ran off with Wei Jiaheng.
Observing the scene, Wei Taiwei chuckled to himself. “Youth is wonderful—full of energy and daring. It reminds me of my younger days.”
Wei Mingxian’s lips curved in a proud smile at his grandson’s spirit.
Shang Qilang, feeling somewhat powerless, kept silent.
At that moment, Shang Yukuan returned from a social engagement, carrying Shang Silang, and bowed deeply to the Wei family.
“This son-in-law greets my father-in-law and my brother-in-law,” he announced.
“Today is your birthday. No need for formalities—consider yourselves at ease,” Wei Taiwei replied graciously.
Wei Mingxian added warmly, “My brother-in-law looks well today, and Silang is in high spirits.”
“My brother-in-law is as strong and capable as ever—that’s admirable.”
The group chatted and laughed as if they were truly one family, but the atmosphere was slightly uncomfortable for Shang Ji and Shang Zhiping. Once, they had shared a similar familial bond with the Gu family. But that connection had faded with the deaths of Madam Gu and Shang Dalang, and the Gu family’s annihilation on the battlefield. In their place, the Wei family now held sway, a carefully cultivated alliance built over many years.
Shang Ji’s distaste grew, and a cold aura radiated from him. Those nearby instinctively gave him space, overwhelmed by the intensity of his presence.
Just as the tension peaked, a familiar hand tapped Shang Ji on the shoulder. He spun around instinctively, grabbing the man by the throat—almost breaking his arm.
“Ahhhh! It’s me! You fool! Watch where you swing before strangling someone!”
Hearing the trembling voice, Shang Ji released him.
“Is this the Duke’s Mansion, or a place where people are eaten? Last time I fell here, it took me half a month to recover. And today—almost strangled! Truly deadly!”
The man’s rapid chatter made Shang Zhiping laugh. Then he called out happily, “Uncle Zhao!”
This “Uncle Zhao” was Xing Zhao, the favored son of the Xing family, serving as a river transport envoy. Handsome and lively, he was also the nephew of Marshal Gu, linking him to the Gu family. Having served years in the Gu army, he was both a loyal friend and a brother-in-arms to Shang Ji. It was, therefore, perfectly natural for Shang Zhiping to address him as “Uncle Zhao.”