Madame Ying shook her head. “Send it to the eldest young master’s courtyard. Make sure it’s a complete set, or the master will be displeased again.”

Her eldest son had disappeared in the Han River the previous summer. When she and He Yue received the terrible news, it had felt as though five bolts of lightning had struck them at once. For a time, neither could accept it.

In the blink of an eye, seven or eight months had passed.

The dead were gone, but the living still had to carry on. Madame Ying had already begun looking forward, yet He Chunhua continued to insist that their new home in Shihuan City must have proper quarters reserved for his eldest son.

“Chuan’er isn’t dead.”

He said that with absolute conviction, and Madame Ying had no idea where his confidence came from.

Still, she did not object.

It was not a bad thing to preserve something to hold on to.

Madame Ying sighed and cast aside that trace of melancholy. No matter what, her husband’s promotion was wonderful...