*有奶就是娘: Chinese idiom, lit. "The person who feeds me with milk is my mother."

As Chang Geng listened and thought about Shiliu's words, he realized the date - it was July 15th.

He walked back to his home through the side door. As he entered the doorway, he suddenly felt that the tune Shiliu was blowing on the xun was a bit familiar. Although it was entirely off tune, it truly resembled the melody of "Song Xi," a song that was used as a burial cry among the people.

Is it appropriate? Chang Geng silently thought.

Shen Shiliu saw Chang Geng off, then bowed his head to search around for quite a while. He eventually found the outline of the gate, and carefully made his way over to close it.

Teacher Shen, who was waiting in the courtyard, offered him a helping hand with a blank expression and led him back into their place.

Teacher Shen: "Iron wristband made from the best kind of iron, the three blades inside were created by Master Qiu Tian Lin himself. After the Master had passed away, they stopped producing and selling it... defective goods?"

Shiliu did not answer.

Teacher Shen: "All right already, don't play coy with me - do you really want to raise him as your own son?"

"Of course, I do, I like this child, he's righteous and benevolent," Shiliu finally said, "That person probably also has this idea in mind. If I can take him in as my heir and pass him my name, those people will be relieved. He could also live a much better life."

Teacher Shen was silent for a while, then whispered, "You have to make him not resent you first - are you not worried at all?"

Shen Shiliu smiled, lifting the hem of his robe and pushing open the door to his room.

He said with a shameless face: "There are loads of people who resent me already."

That night, lights floated on the river; souls returned home.

Chang Geng was stirred awake before dawn arrived, his body in a fervorous state, a thin layer of sweat on his back, his loincloth wet.

Every adolescent would experience such fright and confusion at least once - even if there was already someone to teach them about it in advance.

But Chang Geng did not panic, nor was he confused. He was nonchalant. He sat in bed for a moment, then proceeded to get up and wash up casually. There was a hint of almost undetectable disgust lingering on his face.

He went out to fetch a bucket of cold water, scrubbed his still-growing body from head to toe, took out the neatly folded clothes from beside his pillows, drank the tea that had been left there overnight, and started the day's study session as usual.

Chang Geng did not know what other people's dreams were like.