Chapter 64: Reunion and Reverence

Liu Ting walked into the pavilion with a cheerful smile. She wore the same plain, loose-fitting clothes as when she’d been at Li Sanjiang’s house—practical for chores and work. To the unknowing eye, she might’ve passed for a kitchen maid wandering out of the backrooms of the club without a clue about proper decorum.

“I heard someone say Little Yuan is here?”

Liu Yumei tilted her head slightly toward the southwest corner. Liu Ting followed her gaze. There, on a stone bench, a boy and a girl sat side by side.

That particular spot was flanked by a lotus pond on the left and offered a lofty view of Shan City on the right—a perfect place for taking in the scenery.

The boy was engrossed in telling a story.

The girl sat slightly turned toward him, chin propped up in both hands, eyes glittering as she listened intently.

Every time the boy smiled, the girl’s lips would curl upward too. When he got excited and opened his arms wide in emphasis, the girl would sway her head gently, as if joining in his enthusiasm.

In their daily lives, the boy had always struck Liu Ting as someone outwardly adorable and lively, yet inwardly more mature and composed than his age would suggest. He would play with peers, sure, but an observant person could easily sense a quiet detachment in him—like a benevolent overseer.

But now, he was just like any village kid, plopped down on a haystack, enthusiastically saying, “Let me tell you a secret, but you absolutely mustn’t tell anyone, okay? So yesterday…”

As for her own Ah Li—where had her usual demeanor gone? No, truth was, before the boy arrived, she had still been her usual cool self. But the moment he showed up, she transformed into a normal, innocent little sister, utterly fascinated and adoring of the stories her "brother" told in the courtyard.

Liu Ting sighed with a smile, “Our Ah Li and Little Yuan really do get along surprisingly well.”

“Heh, they’re kids. That’s how it goes.”

Liu Ting simply covered her mouth and chuckled softly. She didn’t deliberately poke at the matter with a sarcastic jab: “What kind of kids can play together like these two?” She knew the old lady’s stubborn streak well enough—but that didn’t stop her from watching the whole thing unfold with a bit of gleeful curiosity, wondering how long the old woman could keep up the act.

“When I came over earlier, I saw a woman making a scene in the front hall. It’s the youngest son from Ding Lao’er’s family. He just divorced his main wife and wants to promote his pregnant mistress—today’s the formal ‘meet the family’ day.”

Liu Yumei asked, “And Ding Lao’er actually agreed to show up?”

“He wasn’t willing at first, but the youngest son begged so pitifully, he eventually gave in.”

“Then I’d say the Ding family’s good days are numbered. When Ding the elder was around, things barely held together. But now that he’s gone, this big setup is probably on its last legs. What a joke—openly flaunting favoritism toward a concubine over the main wife.”

“Oh come now, times have changed.”

“Yes, times have changed. But some principles don’t. You can’t enjoy the perks of the old school while crying out for new-age freedoms.

Look, having legs of different lengths isn’t a big issue. But if both legs want to walk in separate directions, you’re bound to fall on your face.”

“Ding Lao’er gave me a hint. He hopes you’d honor him by having a bowl of tea offered by the younger generation.”

“Tea?”

Liu Yumei smiled faintly and pointed to the pair of kids, now finished chatting and playing a game of chess without even needing a board.

“Call those two over—it’s time for dinner.”

Liu Ting turned and called out from the edge of the pavilion:

“Dinner time!”

Li Zhuiyuan immediately “conceded” the game, stood up, and took the girl’s hand.

He’d been away from home for days, but at the sound of Aunt Liu’s voice, it was as though he heard the call of home.

They crossed the lotus pond and followed a winding path through an open stone gate. Inside were rows of stone platforms, each displaying meticulously trimmed and artfully designed bonsai trees, clearly maintained by professionals.

Along the way, Aunt Liu acted as tour guide, giving Li Zhuiyuan an enthusiastic introduction—as if they were visiting a scenic attraction.

At the path’s end were two staircases—one leading up, the other down. From above came Ding Lao’er, briskly descending with his sons.

His older brother had a son and a daughter, both of whom had died before their father, so the Ding family had long been supported by the second branch.

Ding Lao’er had five sons by three different women. The age gaps between the wives were significant, which made the sons’ ages vary even more. His eldest grandson was two years older than his youngest son.

As he neared Liu Yumei, Ding Lao’er’s smile grew more obsequious by the step, and his back bent lower with each one.

“Young Madam.”

The title didn’t match Liu Yumei’s age in the slightest.

But Li Zhuiyuan caught the nuance—the Ding family must’ve once been aligned with the Qin family.

It was like visiting a married couple’s home: if you were closer to the husband, you called the wife “sister-in-law,” and if you were closer to the wife, you called the husband “brother-in-law.”

“Young Madam rarely goes out. Since you’re here today, I brought the youngsters to greet you. Please come inside and let them serve you tea.”

The second-generation Ding sons stepped forward in a row, all with flattering smiles.

The women, however, remained atop the stairs in a neat line. All were tastefully dressed, hands folded in front. All except the one at the end—she stood out with her thick makeup, wavy hair, purse in one hand and a string of beads dangling from the other.

She was the proverbial crane among chickens. But in Liu Yumei’s eyes, none of those “chickens” were anything worthwhile either. They could teach her, guide her—but they didn’t. It was clear they were hoping she’d embarrass herself in front of a guest.

Petty scheming inside a private home was one thing. But airing that filth in public? That only meant this family’s rules were rotten to the core.

“No need. A bunch of misshapen melons and rotten dates—nothing worth seeing.”

Those words were without the slightest courtesy.

Faces around the courtyard darkened instantly.

Ding Lao’er and his eldest son looked stricken with fear.

The rest of the sons showed visible discontent—especially the youngest, who looked ready to retort until his eldest brother yanked him back.

The women atop the steps began muttering quietly, hands fluttering over their chests. The one with the waves and beads saw an opening to bond with the “sisters” and immediately chimed in:

“Well, well, who does she think she is? Marches in here, eating our food, living under our roof, and still thinks she can act all high and mighty!”

“Thud!”

Ding Lao’er dropped to his knees in fright.

His eldest son followed a beat later—slower, less practiced.

The others paused, then scrambled to kneel, including the defiant youngest who finally caught on.

The wavy-haired woman, mouth agape, found herself speechless. She realized she’d just made a massive blunder.

Ding Lao’er snarled at his youngest, “Tell that whore she’ll never step foot in my house again! And that brat in her belly? He doesn’t get to bear my family’s name!”

The youngest didn’t dare protest.

Ding Lao’er then looked up, eyes pleading. “Young Madam, I…”

“Your family’s mess doesn’t interest me. Go pay respects to your brother.”

Liu Yumei stepped past the kneeling crowd and walked down the stairs, never once sparing a glance at the wavy-haired woman.

Cicadas in summer may be noisy, but who has time to pinpoint which one’s chirping?

Below was a broader platform. In the front hall were several round tables with elders seated. Behind each elder stood someone—most younger, clearly grandchildren.

The closer to the head seat, the younger the attendant. Two elders had grandkids about Ah Li’s age standing beside them.

Further down the line, the older the attendants became. Some, clearly sons, even had white hair.

Though the Qin and Liu families traced their roots to the riverside, Shan City was also one of their ancestral homes. The people gathered here were all once “kin and friends” of the two families.

As Liu Yumei approached, the elders rose together, setting aside walking sticks and brushing off helping hands.

Some extended their right arm in the old salute, some raised a thumb in traditional greeting, and others dropped to their knees like Ding Lao’er—each style reflecting a different background and status in the martial world of old.

Even the titles split:

“Greetings, Young Madam.”

“Greetings, Eldest Miss.”

Liu Yumei stood still and accepted their gestures.

Then she waved a hand, smiling. “Come on now, it’s a new era. These old customs are out of fashion—long out of fashion.”

The elders followed suit, smiling in agreement.

Some turned to show off to their young companions—like children boasting.

Those ancient gestures were mostly retired, not just because they were outdated, but because daily life no longer presented anyone worth bowing to.

But this one bow? It stirred old memories. They felt young again, if only for a moment.

The two elders who’d brought their grandkids were the first to speak.

“Eldest Miss, these old bones only feel useful when paying respects to you.”

“Young Madam, if there’s anyone who knows how to kiss ass, it’s this old mutt.”

“Hahahahaha.”

“Hahahahaha.”

Liu Yumei rested her left hand on Ah Li’s shoulder but leaned slightly toward Li Zhuiyuan, pointing to the two elders.

“This one’s Zhen Mubai. That one’s Su Wenluo.”

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