The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

He suddenly remembered what he had said to Lü Sanjun on the riverbank at Longsheng Ferry when he first transmigrated, in order to escape his predicament, relying on his memories of reading local chronicles in his previous life—"Master, you have a knife between your eyebrows, the blade pointing towards your son. If I'm not mistaken, your son has been wandering outside, and he is exactly sixteen this year... There should be a cinnabar mole behind your left ear."

In a moment of desperation, he used this to obtain one hundred taels of silver as start-up capital and Lü Sanjun's initial trust. Later, as things became more complicated and Lü Sanjun didn't seem to be making a big fuss about searching, he gradually put the matter out of his mind.

Now that my mother has suddenly brought this up, could it be that she's heard some rumors? Or is it some kind of divine hint?

Wang Zhonghua's mind raced, but he remained outwardly composed, echoing his mother's words, "Mother is right, we should find more reliable people. The Lu family matter… if it's true, it's a matter of cause and effect." He didn't elaborate, but he had already firmly memorized the matter. Finding Lu Sanjun's illegitimate son would not only further solidify their alliance, but perhaps… he could also gain a "one of their own"—someone who knew the Lu family inside and out and would undoubtedly be grateful to Wang Zhonghua. This move might be more important than he imagined.

Just then, Ma Nao's respectful voice came from outside the courtyard: "Master, Uncle Fusheng, the steward of the Lü family, has arrived. He says that Master Lü invites you to come to the mansion when you have time, as he has important matters to discuss."

Wang Zhonghua and Yao exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of surprise in each other's eyes. The Lü family had just been mentioned, and Lü Sanjun had sent someone to invite them—was it a coincidence, or…?

"Understood. Tell Uncle Fusheng I'll make the arrangements here and head over shortly," Wang Zhonghua replied.

Madam Yao patted her son's hand and said earnestly, "Go on, business is important. Your father and I will keep an eye on things here, so don't worry." She glanced at Ma Nao and Zhang Simao standing solemnly outside the window and added, "These two boys are very good. I trust you to employ them."

Wang Zhonghua nodded emphatically. He understood that his mother's worries stemmed from her concern for his future, but also from her deepest love for him. The loyalty and reliability of Ma Nao and Zhang Simao, his father's silent yet steadfast protection, his sister's innocent dependence, and the clue about Lü Sanjun's illegitimate child that his mother had just revealed… all of this was the source of his confidence to forge ahead and protect his family in this turbulent Song Dynasty.

He stepped out of the courtyard and whispered a few words to Ma Nao and Zhang Simao, nothing more than to strengthen security and take good care of the old lady. The two men straightened their backs, their eyes resolute, silently expressing their determination.

Watching her son's tall figure disappear into the distance, Yao sighed softly and said to Wang Zhuacai, who had been silent all along, "Father, our son is becoming more and more capable, and he is not failing Old Wang's kindness. It's just that his appearance is becoming more and more like...that person."

Wang Zhuacai's body trembled almost imperceptibly. He didn't answer, but a sharp glint, like the tip of a spear, flashed in his usually somewhat cloudy eyes before returning to its calm, still state. He reached out and gently grasped Yao's slightly cold hand.

Outside the window, the sun shone brightly over Chenzhou City, while in the small backyard of "Xiange Renjia," warmth and undercurrents coexisted. Ma Nao and Zhang Simao, two spies planted by Wang Zhonghua, were quietly taking root, waiting to play an unexpected role at a crucial moment in the future. Meanwhile, a hidden clue concerning the Lü family's bloodline, and potentially influencing the格局 (geju, a concept encompassing both political and social order) of Chenzhou, resurfaced with a casual yet crucial remark from Yao Shi.

Wang Zhonghua practically fled from his mother's presence. That muttered word, "illegitimate child," burned him like a red-hot iron, making him restless. This was far from Yao's womanly view—Lü Fusheng's hesitant, anxious scratching of his head clearly pointed to a deeper vortex. And he was being irresistibly swept away by this invisible undercurrent towards the Lü family and even the most secret core of the Song Dynasty.

The sound of horses' hooves was particularly jarring on the empty street, each step striking a chord in Wang Zhonghua's already taut heart. Lü Fusheng, leading the way, stood stiffly, his steps unsteady, like a puppet controlled by invisible threads. Wang Zhonghua hesitated several times, the cold sweat beading on the old butler's neck more suffocating than any warning.

Turning the corner, the familiar vermilion gates of the Lü residence came into view. A hundred paces away, Wang Zhonghua's pupils suddenly contracted. The gates remained the same, but the guards had changed their stance—no longer the relaxed posture of a typical housekeeper, but rather a horned formation, their eyes scanning every corner like hawks. Further away, several "idlers" appeared to be hiding under the eaves, but the calluses on their hands and the barely noticeable nails on the soles of their boots betrayed them as anything but benevolent. Wang Zhonghua's fingertips instantly turned icy. Were these people… palace guards with swords? Or clandestine agents in the army? He instinctively gripped the "Snow Chant" sword he had personally forged at his waist, the cold scabbard offering a faint sense of reassurance.

Before the announcement had even finished, Lü Changlin practically staggered out. This young steward, who had enjoyed a life of luxury in the Lü household, now had beads of sweat streaming down his forehead, his smile more like a grimace: "Young Master Wang! Young Master Wang! You've finally...finally arrived! Master and several distinguished guests have been waiting for you at Cuiyu Pavilion for quite some time. You...you must..." He took a step closer, his voice trembling with fear, "Please be careful, choose your words carefully!"

The closer they got to the Jade Pavilion, the thicker and more stagnant the air became. Beneath the corridor, four men dressed in ordinary cloth stood like stone statues. Wang Zhonghua's breath almost stopped—they weren't ordinary martial artists; he'd only ever seen that kind of aura in Duan Gong: unwavering even when Mount Tai collapsed before them, hands trembling even with an arrow on the bowstring. Their stance appeared loose, but in reality, it blocked all paths of advance and retreat, making it impossible even for a bird to cross. One of them had his fingertips unconsciously curling slightly inside his sleeve—a habit ingrained in his bones from years of handling crossbows. Wang Zhonghua's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat: even Chen Shimei might not possess this level of discipline, and Di Qing's Northwest Guards certainly didn't have such restrained killing intent. The answer was obvious, yet so heavy that he dared not ponder it further.

Lu Fusheng stopped in front of the tightly closed door, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, as if he were using up all his courage, before he announced in a trembling voice, "Master, Young Master Wang has arrived."

"Come in."

Lü Sanjun's voice squeezed out from the crack in the door, taut like a fully drawn bow, ready to snap at any moment. Wang Zhonghua pushed open the door, his fingertips touching the cold door knocker, and he had the strange feeling of pushing open the door of destiny.

The atmosphere in the study was suffocatingly oppressive. The familiar rosewood desk, the exquisite display cabinet, and the calligraphy and paintings by famous artists on the walls were all shrouded in an invisible pressure. Lü Sanjun didn't dare sit in the main seat, but instead sat with half his backside sticking out at the lower end. The smile on his plump face was stiff and distorted, and beads of sweat rolled down his temples, splashing onto his brocade robe and spreading patches of dark fear.

Seated at the head of the table, the man sat as imposing as a mountain. He wore a slightly worn navy blue robe, the cuffs even frayed, yet it was spotless. His face was lean and refined, his eyes gentle as those of a serene schoolteacher, the faint smile at the corner of his lips seemingly capable of dissolving all worldly sharpness. However, when Wang Zhonghua's gaze met those eyes, he was struck dumb, his very soul trembling—what kind of eyes were those! Clear as a deep, cold pool in the heavens, reflecting the finest dust in a person's heart; deep as an eternal night, seemingly capable of swallowing all light and secrets. That gaze swept over him, and Wang Zhonghua felt as if he had been laid bare, his memories of past and present lives, his deepest hidden schemes, even the slightest selfish thought—nothing could hide from him.

He simply sat there leisurely, yet it was as if he were sitting at a point in time and space, where all the light, all the sounds, and all the breaths naturally submitted to him and converged.

Wang Zhonghua's pupils contracted sharply—ah! Seated on either side of him were none other than Di Qing and Ouyang Xiu!

Di Qing maintained his travel-worn, aloof demeanor, but his gaze towards Wang Zhonghua was incredibly complex, containing concern, scrutiny, worry, and an indescribable, almost stern, weightiness, as if watching someone walk a tightrope. Ouyang Xiu stroked his beard silently, his gaze still gentle, yet carrying a knowing understanding of cause and effect, as if saying, "Young man, we meet again. Are you ready for this test?"

The Emperor! It is the current emperor, Emperor Renzong Zhao Zhen!