The Tang family was a century-old aristocratic household, and for the patriarch's 100th birthday banquet, nearly every influential figure in the city had gathered.
The spacious and opulent banquet hall buzzed with activity as guests mingled in small groups, exchanging business cards and expanding their social circles.
Rong Yu stood among the crowd, her gaze fixed on the center of the room.
A man in his sixties from the Tang family stepped forward and addressed the guests apologetically: "Thank you all for attending my grandfather's centennial celebration. Unfortunately, he isn't feeling well and won't be joining us tonight. Please enjoy the food and drinks, and have a wonderful time."
The guests murmured among themselves about the Tang family.
"That's Tang Youyi, the future heir of the Tang family. He was designated as the successor in his thirties, yet even now in his sixties, he hasn't fully taken control of the family."
"Well, he isn’t Old Master Tang’s son, so of course the old man would keep him at arm’s length."
"Rumor has it Old Master Tang never married or had children in his lifetime. Some say he was gay—do you think that’s true?"
"Where did you hear such gossip? I was told he had a first love he never got over. He spent his whole life waiting for her return. But after all these years, she must be..."
The group sighed in sympathy.
Rong Yu froze.
She had assumed that after her death, Tang Che would have remarried—after all, he had only been thirty at the time.
Yet all these years, he had never let go of her?
What kind of devotion was this?
She spoke softly, "Yingbao, is Tang Che here?"
Old Master Ji nodded. "Behind the banquet hall is a Jiangnan-style courtyard where Uncle Tang usually stays for recuperation. Would you like to go, Mother?"
The Hai and Si families were also longtime friends of the Tangs, so they decided to accompany her.
After walking down a corridor, they arrived at the quiet courtyard. The servants stationed there recognized the elderly gentlemen and, after announcing their arrival, led them inside.
Rong Yu’s mood remained somber.
Old Master Hai and Old Master Si walked a few steps ahead, occasionally glancing back at her, puzzled as to why this young woman had tagged along.
But since she was here, they let it be.
As they ventured deeper, the heavy scent of disinfectant filled the air. A door was pushed open, revealing a room filled with medical equipment—resembling a hospital ward. An elderly man with deep wrinkles and snow-white hair lay on the bed.
Rong Yu stood motionless at the doorway.
The Tang Che she remembered was a spirited, refined, and idealistic young man—full of passion, ambition, and dreams.
But now, he lay there, an oxygen mask covering his face, his condition appearing... far from optimistic.
"Uncle Tang!"
Old Master Ji rushed forward.
Tang Che had been resting with his eyes closed but slowly opened them at the sound of the voice. He removed the oxygen mask and gestured for Old Master Ji to help him sit up.
Old Master Hai hurried to assist on the other side, while Old Master Si adjusted the blankets.
"Thank you, children, for coming to see me." Tang Che’s words nearly brought tears to the three old men’s eyes.
At their age, their own parents had long passed. Only in the presence of this centenarian could they still feel like children.
"How are you feeling, Uncle Tang?" Old Master Hai asked. "What do the doctors say?"
"Old age brings organ failure—it’s inevitable," Tang Che replied calmly. "Once I’m gone, the Tang family will be handed to Tang Youyi. He’s too calculating and stubborn, so I’m not entirely at ease leaving it to him. I hope the three of you, for my sake, can guide him when needed."
As he spoke, he suddenly sensed an intense gaze fixed upon him.
He lifted his eyes and looked toward the door, where a young girl—no more than a teenager—stood silently. She was at the prime of her youth, radiant with life.
"Uncle Tang, let me introduce her," Old Master Ji said, suppressing his heavy emotions. "This is Rong Yu."
The moment the name was spoken, Tang Che jolted upright.
His aged, clouded eyes locked onto Rong Yu. "Child... you—your name is Rong... Rong Yu?"
Old Master Hai was baffled—what was so significant about this name?
Old Master Si suddenly slapped his thigh and whispered, "Remember Ji Shunying’s mother? Wasn’t her name Rong Yu? The one we used to call Aunt Rong when we were kids."
"I think... you’re right," Old Master Hai gasped. "So Old Ji started chasing after this girl because she shares the same name as his late mother?"
Old Master Si shook his head. "No idea."
Rong Yu slowly approached the bed, studying the deeply lined face before her, her emotions in turmoil.
With great effort, she curved her lips into a smile. "Yes, my name is Rong Yu. I brought you a birthday gift—do you like it?"
A younger person should address an elder with respect, using "you" formally.
Yet she used the informal "you" without hesitation.
But Old Master Hai and Old Master Si didn’t find it odd—after all, this girl had even dared to call them fools to their faces.
Tang Che accepted the gift—a simple pencil sketch, devoid of color.
Old Master Hai craned his neck to look but saw nothing remarkable about the drawing. It hardly seemed worthy of a centennial birthday present.
Yet Tang Che’s hands trembled uncontrollably.
He traced the pencil strokes with his fingers, caressing each line as if it were precious. Then he looked up, his voice thick with emotion. "Yingbao, Dadun, Magang—give us a moment. Wait for me in the sitting room."
Old Master Ji immediately ushered his two old friends out, though they didn’t go far, settling in the adjacent room for tea.
"You..." Tang Che stared at Rong Yu. "Child, why did you draw this? Can you tell me?"
The sketch depicted a snowscape—a familiar scene, rendered in a distinctive artistic style.
It reminded him of someone from the past.
"One year, a heavy snow fell in Haicheng. Our families planned to admire the plum blossoms together the next day," Rong Yu murmured, her eyes distant. "But that night, enemy planes bombed the city. The snow turned to blood. We made the best of it, promising to enjoy the snow and plums the following year... but we never got the chance. Now it’s November again. I wonder if this winter, we can finally fulfill that old promise?"
"You—you!"
Tang Che’s pupils dilated, his entire body stiffening.
"Beep—beep—beep!"
His breathing grew ragged, his blood pressure spiking. The medical equipment erupted in frantic alarms.
A swarm of doctors rushed in, hastily fitting him with an oxygen mask and checking his vitals.
