The Marquis Mansion’s Elite Class

Zong Wenxiu entered and first paid his respects to the young emperor, then bowed to Prime Minister Shen, who nodded at him with a smile.

It was afternoon, the time when the emperor gathered daily to listen to Prime Minister Shen discuss memorials. Thus, even with Zong Wenxiu's arrival, Prime Minister Shen remained.

Moreover, since Zong Wenxiu had requested an audience with the emperor, it was clear he had important matters to discuss—something Prime Minister Shen was also keen to hear.

Zong Wenxiu got straight to the point: "Your Majesty, my father, Zong Yan, is skilled in crafting weapons. He has drawn up a blueprint for a war chariot that could be sent to the border for military use. May Your Majesty review the design and see if it would aid our forces at the front?"

"A war chariot?" Jin Cheng blinked, curiosity piqued as he took the blueprint.

Even Prime Minister Shen looked intrigued.

He had heard that the second son of the Zong family had returned from the border months ago, but he hadn't expected him to be proficient in weapon-making.

The young troublemaker examined the blueprint alongside Prime Minister Shen. Though he wasn't particularly knowledgeable about weaponry, the design was annotated in meticulous detail—listing materials, functionalities, usage methods, and even estimated damage output.

The more he studied it, the more impressed he became. "Heavens!" he exclaimed. "Second Uncle—ah, no, your father is this capable?"

Zong Wenxiu replied modestly, "Truthfully, I'm not sure how effective it will be in practice. Perhaps Your Majesty could have the Armaments Office evaluate it first, lest we celebrate prematurely?"

War chariots were typically manufactured by the Armaments Office. Though his father had drafted the blueprint, he held no official position or military merits. Presenting it outright might invite skepticism.

And then there was Prime Minister Shen—what if he disapproved?

The young emperor made a swift decision. "Very well. We'll have them produce a prototype first and test its power. If it proves formidable, we'll send it to the border to aid the Duke of State Protection in repelling the enemy!"

Zong Wenxiu hadn't expected such an immediate resolution. Glancing at Prime Minister Shen's approving gaze, he quickly replied, "Your Majesty is most wise!"

At the General's Manor.

When Zong Wenxiu returned with the news, he was brimming with joy. "Father, Jin Cheng is truly kind. He barely questioned it and agreed right away to have the chariot built for testing."

Zong Yan smiled and nodded. "He trusts you deeply. That's good. We'll wait and see—crafting such a chariot takes time. Even the Armaments Office will need several days."

Zong Wenxiu nodded eagerly. "Yes! Oh, and the emperor said that if the chariot proves effective, it will surely help us crush the enemy. Even if you don't go to the frontlines, you'll be a great hero of Great Chu. He plans to confer upon you a grand military title, the highest honors!"

His little brother had always been good at sweet talk.

But he knew Jin Cheng meant every word—his promises carried a reassuring weight.

Zong Yan had never cared much for accolades, but the boy's excitement was contagious, stirring something in him.

He thought: Wenxiu must want his father to be someone remarkable.

All children had such competitive instincts.

So he said, "If we're aiming for the highest honors, a single blueprint might not suffice."

"Ah?" Zong Wenxiu asked quickly. "What else is needed?"

Zong Yan lowered his gaze. "We need something stronger."

"Stronger how?"

Zong Yan handed him a list. "Gather these materials for me. If you can't find them all, ask your uncle for help."

Whatever the reason, Zong Wenxiu would comply with his father's requests. "Understood!"

Odd assortments of wires, blades, even candles—various weapon materials were hauled in. Zong Yan buried himself in his workshop, tinkering away, the clanging of metal echoing intermittently.

Zong Wenxiu wisely refrained from disturbing him, choosing instead to observe quietly from the side. His father worked with such focus that he sometimes didn't even notice when flames singed his fingers—prompting Wenxiu to hastily pat out the sparks.

Yet Zong Yan's dedication was inspiring.

Such immersive devotion was both admirable and enviable.

Occasionally, though, his father would pause and glance toward the door. At first, Zong Wenxiu assumed he was resting his eyes and considerately moved the worktable closer to the window.

But his father still kept looking toward the entrance.

Before he could puzzle it out, Zong Yan asked, "How is your grandmother?"

Zong Wenxiu perked up. His father was asking about someone else—voluntarily!

He replied eagerly, "The Old Marchioness has been wanting to see you, but she feared intruding. But don't worry, Father—she looks younger and livelier than before. Just knowing you're safe and alive is all that matters to her!"

Zong Yan's hands stilled briefly before resuming work. Casually, he said, "If she or the others wish to see me, they may come anytime. I'm fine now."

Zong Wenxiu's eyes sparkled. "Wonderful! I'll tell her right away—she'll be overjoyed!"

The young man dashed off to summon her.

Zong Yan watched his retreating figure, his brow furrowing as his grip on the wire tightened.

Before long, the Old Marchioness arrived.

She had run all the way.

A martial artist's ears were sharp. Zong Yan looked up and called out, "Mother."

The once-radiant youth from her memories now forced a smile, as if trying to recapture the past.

The Old Marchioness's eyes reddened instantly. "Oh, oh—Yan'er, I've missed you. I've missed you so much."

She restrained herself from rushing forward, afraid her youngest son—who had only just begun to emerge from his shell—might retreat again.

But her restraint only made the moment more heartbreaking.

Zong Yan set down the wire and spread his arms. "My hands are dirty. Don't touch them."

It was an invitation for an embrace.

The Old Marchioness could hold back no longer. She threw herself against him, weeping with relief. "Yan'er, my Yan'er… You're back. I've missed you so much it nearly drove me mad."

Zong Yan held her lightly, murmuring, "I'm sorry, Mother. I made you worry."

Though she wept, she remained considerate. Shaking her head, she said, "You've done nothing wrong. Don't burden yourself. A mother's love is patient—I could wait for you to heal."

Zong Yan was deeply moved.

He ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‍wanted to thank her but feared sounding distant. Before he could decide, she was already leading him to wash his hands.

A grown man in his twenties, being fussed over by his mother—it should have been embarrassing. Yet for two who had barely seen each other in over a decade, it bridged the distance between them.

Zong Yan remained quiet, but the Old Marchioness didn't mind. She chattered away:

"Is it too hot in here? The capital's warmer than the borderlands. Though it's not yet June, summer's already creeping in. If you're uncomfortable, I'll have someone bring ice to cool the room."

"Oh, and the kitchen's been preparing your favorite dishes from years ago. But tastes change—would you like Steward Liu to arrange some new capital specialties for you to try?"