Su Yang had grown far sturdier than five years ago, his shoulders broad. With the constant labor of running the paper mill, his skin was tanned a deep, glistening black. Fine lines had already appeared early at the corners of his eyes, yet those eyes remained as bright and spirited as when he used to hunt in the mountains years ago.

He furrowed his brow and strode to the courtyard gate.

But then, as his gaze passed over the woman’s shoulder and landed on the face of the young man outside the door—

Su Yang’s entire body froze as if struck by a binding spell, instantly rooted to the spot.

His breath stopped.

The laughter of the children around him, the rustling of wind through the bamboo grove—all seemed to be pulled away at that moment. His world narrowed to only this familiar yet unfamiliar face before him.

“Third… Third Son?”

Su Yang’s voice trembled, shaking uncontrollably, as if the sound was a broken note forcibly squeezed from the depths of his throat.

Su Ming looked at him. Looked at his dark, weathered face. Looked at his large hands, knuckles white from gripping too tightly.

He smiled lightly.

“Second Brother.”

Just those two words.

Su Yang’s eyes instantly turned crimson. Two streams of murky tears rolled down the face of this iron-tower-like man without warning.

He charged forward and slammed Su Ming into a deathly tight embrace.

The force of his arms was astonishing—the brutal strength forged from years of heavy labor. Su Ming could even hear the faintest protest from his own bones, but he didn’t channel any spiritual energy to resist. He simply let that crushing force, nearly strong enough to snap him in two, lock him in place.

“You brat! You brat!”

Su Yang’s tears fell in heavy drops onto Su Ming’s shoulder, his voice already choked with undisguised sobs, hoarse and wild.

“You’re still alive, damn it! You’re still alive!”

Su Yang held him tightly, as if afraid that the moment he let go, this younger brother, who had vanished for five years without a trace of life or death, would dissipate like an illusion.

Su Ming didn’t move.

He felt the violent, genuine heartbeat thrumming in his second brother’s chest. He felt the scorching tears soaking into his shoulder. Slowly, he raised his hand and gently patted Su Yang’s broad back.

“Second Brother, I’m back.”

The massive commotion at the courtyard gate finally stirred the others inside the house.

The thick curtain over the main room’s door was abruptly shoved aside. A woman, her hair already more than half gray, stumbled out unsteadily. Her hand still clutched a handful of freshly picked greens, her fingers slightly red from the cold water.

When her murky gaze crossed the courtyard and clearly saw the gray figure locked tightly in Su Yang’s arms—

The mother stood frozen as if her spine had been ripped out. She opened her mouth but no sound came. The greens scattered to the ground.

Then, her legs suddenly gave way, and she collapsed straight toward the cold greenstone floor.

“Mother!”

Su Ming’s form blurred for an instant.

He didn’t cast any shocking spell. Relying solely on the terrifying explosive power of a Foundation Establishment physique, in a thousandth of a breath, he broke free from Su Yang’s embrace, crossed several yards in one step, and firmly caught his mother’s falling body.

What his hands touched were thin, bony shoulders.

“Mother,” Su Ming said softly, yet his voice carried an unshakable steadiness.

His mother’s tears burst forth like a broken dam, streaming down uncontrollably. She clutched Su Ming’s arm with both hands, her withered fingers digging into his flesh like iron pincers, turning her knuckles white. Her cloudy eyes greedily swept over Su Ming’s face. She touched his cheek, then his shoulder, her lips trembling violently but unable to form a single complete sentence—only suppressed sobs escaped.

From the main room, a wisp of gray smoke from pipe tobacco drifted out.

His father, Su Shan, still gripping the old tobacco pipe he’d used for over a decade, walked out with a slight stumble.

His back was more hunched than five years ago. His once robust frame had been eroded and withered by the trials of time.

When he saw Su Ming, his forward steps paused almost imperceptibly.

He didn’t burst into tears like his mother, nor shout wildly like his second brother. This farmer, who had toiled his entire life, simply fixed his bloodshot eyes on Su Ming for a long moment.

Then, slowly, step by step, he walked up to Su Ming.

He extended a hand—calloused from years of labor, rough as tree bark—and heavily patted Su Ming’s shoulder twice.

The force was substantial, yet carried a weight like a mountain.

His father’s lips moved, as if he had a thousand things to ask, a thousand things to say. But in the end, all those words circled in his throat and condensed into just two dry syllables:

“You’ve lost weight.”

A sharp pang struck Su Ming’s heart.

“Father, I’m fine.”

Eldest Brother Su Feng and his wife hurried out from the side room. Su Feng still had that simple, honest look, but his features carried a few more traces of maturity and steadiness. He rubbed his hands together, standing awkwardly to the side with a silly grin, his eyes red-rimmed.

His wife kept wiping her tears with her sleeve, muttering over and over: “It’s good that you’re back, it’s good that you’re back, Heaven be praised…”

“Alright, alright, stop standing around in the yard! Quick, get inside!” Su Yang roughly wiped his tears with the back of his hand and began bustling around. “Sister-in-law, go light the stove and boil water, brew some tea for Third Son! Wife, go to the cellar and bring out that jar of old wine!”

The whole family crowded around Su Ming and entered the main room.

Inside, a sturdy, bright-eyed boy was hiding behind his sister-in-law, peeking out with half his head. His big eyes blinked as he sized up Su Ming with curiosity mixed with a hint of fear. His features were practically a carbon copy of Eldest Brother Su Feng’s.

His sister-in-law pulled the child forward and coaxed him gently: “Little Tiger, don’t hide. Call your uncle. This is your father’s own blood brother—your real third uncle.”

Little Tiger, around four or five, looked at Su Ming shyly, his small hands clutching tightly to his mother’s sleeve. He called out quietly: “Uncle.”

Su Ming looked at the child, a trace of softness spreading across his cold, hardened face. He nodded. With a slight turn of his wrist, he pulled a round, crystal-clear jade pendant from the storage space of the Xuantian Ring.

He bent down and handed the pendant to Little Tiger, speaking gently: “Take this. It’s a gift from your uncle to welcome you.”

Little Tiger didn’t grab it immediately. Instead, he looked up at his mother. Seeing the pendant’s exceptional quality—clearly worth no small sum—his sister-in-law was about to decline, but Su Feng grinned and said simply: “It’s from Third Son. Take it.”

Only then did Little Tiger reach out his chubby little hand, take the pendant, and happily run his fingers over the carvings etched into it.

Nearby, Su Yang had already come over, carrying an even smaller child.