“Get up. There is no Sixth Prince here.”

Xiong Shan sighed softly.

His gaze fell on the courtyard.

The small yard was clean and tidy. A few flowerpots were stacked in the corner.

But no flowers grew in them. Just empty pots.

Piled in the corner, they gave off a lonely, forgotten feeling.

Xiong Shan swept his eyes across the courtyard, a look of unfamiliarity and remembrance flickering in his gaze.

He stepped forward, walking toward the main house.

The main house looked rather old. The wooden door had dulled with age and bore the pockmarks of insect bites.

Xiong Shan pushed it open and entered the main hall.

The hall was spotless. Not a speck of dust on the floor. A table stood at the northern end, surrounded by several opposing chairs.

“Hoo…”

Xiong Shan let out a long breath. Looking around at the familiar yet distant sight, a touch of sorrow surfaced in his eyes.

The old man followed behind him closely.

He walked hunched over, his pace unhurried but steady.

“According to our investigations, when the Old Madam left Great Liao back then, this is where she settled upon returning to Great Wu.”

“This was her ancestral home. I also inquired with the neighbors around here.”

“There was indeed a Xiong family that once lived here.”

“Everything matches.”

Hearing the old man’s report, Xiong Shan’s heart was in turmoil.

He stepped to the table, running his hand across its surface.

His thick, calloused palm slowly caressed the timeworn wooden surface.

The table’s finish had long faded. Time had left it rough and aged.

Xiong Shan slowly sat down on one of the old chairs, eyes sweeping across the room.

“This property has already been bought,” the old man said. “I had it cleaned.”

“All of the old items were kept, nothing was thrown out.”

“Some of the ones that were too damaged, I placed in the side room.”

He gave a few light coughs.

Xiong Shan nodded and sighed. “You’ve done well.”

The old man’s voice grew emotional. “Had it not been for the Old Madam back then, I’d already be dead.”

“The only regret now is that she didn’t stay here long.”

“She left again.”

“I asked the elders in the neighborhood, but none knew where she went.”

A trace of regret passed over his face.

Xiong Shan gave a faint smile. “It’s enough.”

“Mother had her own plans.”

“If there’s a chance in the future, I’ll look for her again.”

He was comforting the old man.

But it sounded more like he was comforting himself.

The old man fell silent and nodded.

The two stood in silence.

Then Xiong Shan rose and began walking slowly through the old Xiong family home, measuring each part of it with his wide palms.

He was feeling.

Feeling the traces of where his mother had once lived.

He reached the side room and pushed the door open.

Several boxes were placed on the floor inside, filled with broken odds and ends.

No sooner had he entered than one thing inside the boxes caught his eye.

It was a small rattle-drum.

Unlike the kind sold in the markets, this one had a hide drumhead—light yellow in color.

The pellets on the sides were gone, leaving only two brittle cords dangling.

The moment he saw the drum, Xiong Shan’s breathing hitched.

He strode forward and lifted it from the box.

Nostalgia surged in his eyes.

This drum—his mother made it for him.

When he was four, his mother had left Great Liao. She took this rattle-drum with her.

She said she wanted to return home for a visit.

She was a native of Great Wu. Longing for one’s homeland was only human.

But after she left, no word ever came again.

Countless times in his dreams, Xiong Shan would see her again.

Yet over time, her image in those dreams had grown hazier and hazier.

Xiong Shan sighed and pulled himself from the memories.

He gently set the rattle-drum down, sorrow in his eyes.

More than twenty years had passed. He did not know where she was now, or if she was even safe.

He rummaged through the boxes a while longer but found nothing else from his memories.

The old man stood quietly nearby, waiting.

Xiong Shan stepped out of the side room and walked through the home.

A heaviness grew in his chest.

He returned to the main hall and sat back down on the old chair.

At his side, the old man spoke: “Your Highness, the mid-year prairie hunt is about to begin.”

“This year’s hunt is crucial. All princes abroad must return.”

Xiong Shan nodded. “I’m aware.”

The old man glanced at him and said quietly, “Her Majesty the Empress says that this time, Your Highness must take the first token.”

“Great Liao is going to war with Great Wu.”

“A new emperor has ascended in Great Wu, but the people’s hearts are unsettled.”

“Now, with the peach blossom floods, the time right after the prairie hunt is the best moment to strike.”

A sharp glint of resolve and confidence flickered through Xiong Shan’s eyes.

“I understand.”

Sensing his confidence, the old man couldn’t help but smile.

Among all the princes of Great Liao, only the Sixth Prince resembled His Majesty the most—in looks, temperament, and disposition.

Among them all, His Majesty doted on him most.

After the Old Madam passed, the Empress, with no children of her own, brought the Sixth Prince to her side and raised him like her own son.

Over the years, their bond deepened.

The old man could already envision it: once Great Liao conquered Great Wu, the next emperor would undoubtedly be the Sixth Prince.

All that was left was for war to begin—let the Sixth Prince lead his troops to some victories, and the title of Crown Prince would be within easy reach.

Xiong Shan didn’t know what the old man was thinking.

He stared blankly at the ground, feeling restless.

He had searched all over Great Wu for his mother’s trace and had come to understand its people deeply.

To Xiong Shan, the citizens of Great Wu were no different from those of Great Liao.

The only difference was their way of life.

One farmed, the other herded.

But at the root of it all, they were the same.

Just people, trying to survive.

Both nations had their hardships.

When weighed side by side, it was six of one, half a dozen of the other.

War…

Xiong Shan sighed.

When the two nations clashed, many more lives would be lost.

He felt for the people of Great Wu. After all, his blood was half theirs.

But he also pitied the people of Great Liao.

Yet for the sake of his nation…

He would one day have to lead the iron cavalry into Great Wu’s lands.

These thoughts made his heart heavy.

He stood up and waved at the old man.

His goal for this trip had been achieved.

It was time to return to the inn.

He stepped into the side room and picked up the broken little rattle-drum.

Leaving the alleyway, he bought some braised meat from a roadside shop, dangling the bags in hand as he made his way back to Yuelai Inn.

“Creak…”

The door gave a soft groan as someone pushed it open.

Da Ming looked up and saw Xiong Shan staggering inside.

In both hands he carried large wine jars. Two bags of braised meat hung from his arms.

As he walked, he raised the jar in his right hand and took a deep swig.

Wine spilled from the mouth of the jar.

Gulp gulp—Xiong Shan drank in great mouthfuls, soaking the front of his robes.

He stepped inside, put down the wine jars, and let out a long breath.

His face slightly flushed, he looked at Da Ming.

“Brother Ming, have a drink with your brother…”