Chapter 96: The Portrait in the Xu Family Ancestral Hall

Xu Chen, however, shook his head.

"No. If it were that, this place would have been cleared and under martial law long ago. How could collateral branches and distant relatives like us still be standing here enjoying the breeze and chatting?"

He paused. His gaze swept over the nervous couple, and suddenly a bit of playful thought arose. Lowering his voice, he said half-joking:

"They are waiting for Yunzhou."

The air solidified for two seconds.

Xu Zhongshan and Yang Wenhui froze simultaneously, their eyes widening roundly, as if hearing an Arabian Nights tale.

"...???"

A few seconds later, Xu Zhongshan was the first to react.

He laughed out loud with a "pfft," waved his hands, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out:

"Uncle Chen, this joke of yours... almost scared a heart attack out of me."

Yang Wenhui also patted her chest, her tone carrying lingering fear:

"Exactly, I even thought that kid stirred up some trouble again recently, to have so many leaders waiting to interrogate him."

As she spoke, she subconsciously glanced toward those figures deep in the mansion, then quickly withdrew her gaze, as if afraid of being heard.

After Xu Zhongshan finished laughing, he still couldn't help but press:

"Then who exactly are they waiting for?"

Xu Chen reined in his joking expression and adjusted his collar:

"Listening to the tone revealed by the Xu family members... it seems they are waiting for a very special guest."

Yang Wenhui couldn't help pressing:

"Special guest? Who is it?"

Xu Chen turned his head, glanced at them, and lowered his voice:

"Exactly who it is isn't clear, but it's related to an origin from Elder Wu's youth."

He weighed his words:

"This afternoon, when I followed the Xu family members into the ancestral hall to offer incense, I saw that at the very top of the offering table, besides the ancestral spirit tablets, a hand-drawn portrait was enshrined separately."

"The portrait was framed in glass, wiped completely spotless. It depicted a young man in his early twenties wearing a Mao suit. His brows, eyes, and expression..."

He paused, his gaze lingering on Xu Zhongshan's face for a moment, his tone somewhat subtle:

"By some sheer coincidence, he looks exactly like your Yunzhou. I felt this was just too intriguing at the time, which is why I hurriedly called to make sure you all rushed over here, no matter what."

"If there is a chance later, you can try to leverage this resemblance to strike up a conversation with Elder Wu. If her family leaks even a tiny fraction of their resources to him in the future, Yunzhou's path will be completely set."

Yang Wenhui let out an "ah," her eyes widening slightly:

"Such a coincidence? Then I really have to take a good look!"

Xu Zhongshan also felt it was rare and pressed:

"By the way, who exactly is the person in that portrait?"

Xu Chen nodded, his voice even lower:

"I asked. They said, that is Elder Wu's Mister from her youth."

"Mister? Husband?"

Yang Wenhui didn't understand.

"No, it's more of a Teacher, Mentor, Guide kind of role."

Xu Chen explained,

"According to Elder Wu's own words, back then when she was sixteen and her whole family died in the flames of war, it was this Mister who appeared out of thin air."

"He taught her martial arts and military tactics, forcefully pulling her back from the gates of hell, and guided her all the way to become the founding female general later on."

He paused and added:

"The last thing Elder Wu instructed before falling into a coma was just one sentence—'Wait for Mister to come.' So the people gathered here tonight are either waiting for Mister himself, or... his descendant, his successor."

Xu Zhongshan clicked his tongue upon hearing this, subconsciously calculating:

"Elder Wu is one hundred and three years old this year, met Mister at sixteen, that was over eighty years ago... The Mister in the photo looks in his early twenties, if he lived until now, wouldn't he be over a hundred years old too?"

"More than that."

Xu Chen shook his head,

"Calculating it, his age would have to lean toward the legend of Zhang Sanfeng."

(TL: Zhang Sanfeng is a legendary Daoist and martial arts master said to have lived for hundreds of years.)

The three were speechless for a moment.

The night wind passed through the courtyard, bringing the faint scent of osmanthus from afar, and also bringing the suppressed, low-voiced conversations in the main hall.

Gazing deep into the mansion, Yang Wenhui muttered:

"Then... what kind of person would this descendant of 'Mister' they are waiting for be..."

She couldn't imagine.

A "successor" who could be remembered by a founding female general for over eighty years, and could make so many big shots wait quietly late at night, what kind of bearing and background should they have?

Before her words fell—

"Someone is coming."

From the direction of the side hall, someone said lowly.

In an instant, the entire courtyard seemed to have the mute button pressed on it.

All low-voiced conversations, footsteps, and even the sounds of fabric rubbing disappeared.

All gazes, as if pulled by invisible silk threads, uniformly cast toward the entrance of the old mansion—the end of that bluestone path illuminated dim yellow and warm by lanterns.

The beam of headlights cut through the night, drawing near from afar.

A black Porsche Panamera slowly drove in, the tires rolling over the stone slabs emitting a slight rustling sound.

The car door opened.

The first to step down was a tall woman wearing a baseball cap and a mask, but those exposed, astonishingly bright eyes, and the outstanding figure proportions that couldn't be concealed even wrapped in a trench coat, still made many people recognize her instantly.

Queen of Pop, Song Jiaru.

Immediately following, another young woman stepped down from the passenger seat.

Short hair, a sharp navy blue suit, a bit of sharpness between her brows. It was exactly the helmsman of Qingsheng Media, Song Jinxuan.

As soon as the two got out of the car, they attracted most of the gazes.

Song Jinxuan frowned slightly, lowering her voice and saying to Song Jiaru:

"Teacher Song, tomorrow's Binzhou concert, all thirty thousand tickets are sold out, rehearsals are all arranged, and you insist on running over here now... If photographed by the media, who knows what stories they'll make up again."

Song Jiaru pulled down the brim of her hat, her voice very light, yet firm:

"Grandma Wu woke up, how could I not come? That incident back then... you know about it too."

Song Jinxuan sighed, her tone softening a bit, yet still carrying professional concerns:

"I know you value relationships and loyalty, but you also have to think about the team. Yesterday you ran to the club in the middle of the night wearing a wedding dress; it's fine since you weren't photographed."

"But this morning, the photos of you and that Xu Yunzhou being secretly taken by the West Lake exploded, the heat on all major platforms blew up.

The few big fan leaders in the fan club are almost going crazy with anxiety..."

She didn't finish, but the meaning was very obvious—you are a national idol, every step must be calculated for gains and losses.

Song Jiaru turned her head, the eyes under the brim of her hat glancing at her.

That gaze was calm, but it made Song Jinxuan's following words choke in her throat.

"If it causes losses,"

Song Jiaru said, her voice not loud, yet every word clear,

"I will compensate. Penalty fees, PR fees, all costs generated due to my capriciousness, will come from my personal account."

Song Jinxuan opened her mouth. Looking at Song Jiaru's eyes, she finally swallowed back all words of persuasion, only sighing gently:

"You..."

While the two were talking, many people had already recognized Song Jiaru.

"Teacher Song!"

"Jiaru is here?"

Several figures from the arts and literature circles who had old ties with the Xu family stepped forward to exchange low-voiced pleasantries.

Wu Xiuyun's great-granddaughter Xu Xinyi—a capable-looking woman around twenty-seven or twenty-eight wearing a black suit—also walked quickly out from the main hall.

Her face carried obvious exhaustion, her eye rims slightly red, but her manners were still impeccable.

"Teacher Song, you've arrived."

Xu Xinyi's voice was somewhat exhausted, but her manners were impeccable.

Song Jiaru held her hand and asked eagerly:

"Xinyi, Grandma Wu woke up, right? Can I see her?"

Xu Xinyi hesitated for a moment, shaking her head gently.

"Grandma woke up, but she said..."

She paused, her voice lowering,

"Before Mister arrives, she doesn't want to see anyone else. She said... she must save her strength, waiting for Mister."

Song Jiaru's eyes instantly lit up, her fingers subconsciously tightening:

"Then has he... arrived?"

Xu Xinyi nodded:

"President Lin called just now, saying she has already picked up the person and is on the way here."

Song Jiaru let out a long breath and nodded forcefully:

"Okay, I'll wait outside."

She let go of Xu Xinyi's hand and looked around the courtyard.

Many people stood under the lights, many were familiar faces—from political, business, and arts circles. Many had met her on various occasions, some had even collaborated.

Song Jiaru adjusted her breathing, took off her mask, walked toward the crowd, and bowed slightly to several highly respected elders.

"Teachers, seniors, good evening."

She specifically walked toward Lu Yuan standing under the corridor—back then in Chengzhou, it was exactly this old man who brought Elder Wu and saved her from Xu Kun's demonic claws.

"Grandpa Lu."

She greeted softly.

Lu Yuan looked at her, a trace of a gentle smile appearing on his serious face, and nodded:

"Jiaru is here."

She walked again toward Qin Shuyi standing under the wisteria trellis.

"Academician Qin, good evening."

Qin Shuyi adjusted her glasses, responding gently:

"Jiaru, long time no see. You've lost weight again, pay attention to your health."

Song Jiaru's voice was gentle, her gestures elegant, instantly becoming the new focus in the courtyard.

But the eyes under the brim of her hat from time to time glanced toward that bluestone path at the entrance of the mansion, as if waiting for something.

Or rather...

Waiting for someone.