Upon entering the small tavern, a neatly dressed waiter ushered Han Li inside.
Han Li didn’t head upstairs but instead found a secluded corner on the first floor, ordered a few dishes, and silently observed everything in the tavern.
The first floor was crowded with people from all walks of life—porters, laborers, and small-town merchants—no different from other taverns he had seen before. The only noticeable group was a table of burly men dressed in martial attire.
There were five or six of them, each carrying long cloth-wrapped bundles placed conveniently at their sides. Without even using his spiritual sense, Han Li immediately guessed they contained weapons like swords or sabers. Their matching attire suggested they belonged to some gang. Strangely, this sight stirred a sense of nostalgia in him, reminding him of his days in the Seven Mysteries Sect.
He briefly scanned them with his spiritual sense, catching snippets of their conversation about gang conflicts. Losing interest quickly, he shifted his attention elsewhere.
Just then, two young scholars entered the tavern, chatting animatedly as they strolled in.
“Did you hear? This time, when Vice Minister Han returns to his hometown for ancestral rites, not only will the prefect personally visit, but even the Fan and Li families will send representatives. It seems the Han family is going all out—no chance of keeping it low-key.”
“Exactly! I heard the Han family sent out invitations far and wide, summoning all their distant relatives. Even the local gentry in Jingzhou are sending people to observe. Soon, the Han family will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Fan and Li families as one of the three great clans of Jingzhou.”
“Tsk tsk! Rumor has it the Han family only rose to prominence a little over a century ago, yet they’ve already gained such influence—truly astonishing!”
“What’s so strange about that? Ever since some distant relative of theirs became a provincial scholar, the Han family’s fortunes have soared. Generation after generation, their descendants have passed imperial exams. With such accumulated prestige, their current status isn’t surprising. Why don’t we also go and—”
The two scholars casually took a seat near Han Li.
“The Han family?” Han Li stiffened at the mention and strained to hear more, but the pair abruptly switched topics to poetry, much to his frustration. After a moment’s thought, he stood and approached them.
“Gentlemen, I am Han Li. May I ask which Han family you were referring to earlier? I, too, have received a summons to return for ancestral rites, but having grown up far from home, I know little about my family. Could you enlighten me?” Han Li asked with a polite smile.
“So you’re a Han family descendant! Our apologies for the oversight. But which Han family could it be if not the one from Wuli Valley?” The scholars exchanged glances before answering, reassured by his scholarly demeanor.
“Wuli Valley?” That was the name of the small mountain village where his family had once lived, named after the five-mile-long ravine it occupied. It seemed the Han family they spoke of was almost certainly his own.
“If it’s Wuli Valley, then that’s indeed my family. Could you share more details? I’ve never attended the ancestral rites before and wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself,” Han Li said calmly.
“Well… There’s no harm in sharing general knowledge—it’s common knowledge, after all.” The scholars hesitated briefly before one of them, finding Han Li harmless, agreed.
“Thank you both!” Han Li smiled gratefully.
The scholar began, “If you’re attending the rites, you shouldn’t go to Wuli Valley first. Decades ago, the Han family relocated their main residence to the Han Family Fort, dozens of miles away. Only on the day of the rites do all members return to Wuli Valley. As for the Han family…”
Han Li listened quietly, his expression unchanging, though his heart churned.
Two hours later, Han Li stood atop the familiar Green Mountain, though this time he didn’t descend. Instead, he gazed silently at the scene below.
Was this the same village?
The dirt paths, thatched huts, and village children were gone, replaced by tiled courtyards, cobblestone paths, and neatly dressed servants. Not a trace of the past remained.
After a long look, Han Li shook his head and was about to leave when his eyes caught a pavilion at the center of the estate. Though not particularly large, its multi-story structure stood out among the single-story buildings.
The pavilion’s doors were shut, bearing a black plaque inscribed with silver characters: “Han Family Ancestral Hall.”
A flicker of emotion crossed Han Li’s face. After a brief pause, he vanished, reappearing before the pavilion in an instant.
Several burly guards stood watch, but Han Li, concealed by invisibility magic, went unnoticed. With a glance, he phased through the door.
Inside, rows of ancestral tablets lined long tables, forming a solemn passage. The newer tables stood empty, reserved for future generations.
Han Li scanned the unfamiliar names before ascending to the second floor.
Here, the tablets were fewer but more elaborately enshrined, flanked by incense burners and a massive bronze cauldron filled with oil and a thick wick, its flame casting a reverent glow.
Han Li ignored it all, his gaze fixed on the central tablets.
“Han Zhu, Han Tie, Han Tiansheng…” The cold, black characters bore the names of those he once knew. A pang of grief struck him, a suffocating weight in his chest.
They say the Great Dao is heartless—but that’s merely self-deception. Even an immortal like Han Li couldn’t sever all ties. The best he could do was bury those emotions deep.
At last, he moved, stepping slowly toward the tablets before stopping again, his face expressionless. Yet memories of warmth and kinship flooded his mind.
Time slipped away unnoticed until the creak of the door jolted him from his reverie. He remained still as footsteps and voices rose from below.
“Brother Li, you’re too impatient! I already promised to lend you the manuscript after the rites—why the rush?” one man sighed.
“Hah! Brother Han, how could I not hurry after you mentioned that ancestral martial technique? Strange that our Li family never knew of it. But why keep the manuscript here? What if it’s stolen?” the other replied, half-embarrassed, half-worried.
“Who would rob an ancestral hall? Besides, our guards are skilled martial artists—no ordinary thief could get close. And even if they did, would they dare face the Han family’s wrath?” the first man said confidently.
“Fair point,” the other conceded.
Footsteps ascended the stairs, and soon a scholar and a bearded man appeared at the landing.
Their smiles froze at the sight of Han Li standing before the tablets, hands clasped behind his back.
The bearded man reacted first, stepping protectively in front of the scholar. “You dare come here? Then die!” With a roar, he lunged at Han Li, fists clenched, a gale of force preceding him.
Han Li remained motionless, his back turned.
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