As Mr. Zhongxuan’s words fell, the atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly shifted.

Zhongxuan Mingguang’s assiduous leg massaging motions involuntarily slowed down.

Zhongxuan Zun had been in a rather good mood.

Although Wang Yiwu had "joined forces" with his own father, and within less than a year, managed to dismantle his business operations, which was indeed a headache.

But that letter from the Summer Country’s Jianfeng Mountain, congratulating Zhongxuan Zun on the victory at Tianfu, had significantly uplifted his spirits.

Especially today, as three generations enjoyed a harmonious and casual family conversation, a delight in life.

A rare moment of leisure stolen from the hustle and bustle of life!

But this remark by the old man...

Only the Qintian Monitor, Zheng Ruanting, could be capable of discussing friendship with the Marquis of Bowang, and it could only be Ruan Qin.

The famed tallest Star Observation Tower of Linzi is the territory of the Imperial Heavenly Observatory. The morning bell at Purple Pole Hall, heard at every early imperial court session, is struck by someone from the Imperial Heavenly Observatory.

To many, it was an incredibly mysterious government office, which indeed seldom involved itself in politics.

But those with real clout certainly understood the weight of the Imperial Heavenly Observatory.

However, going back to the point, with the detached status of the Imperial Heavenly Observatory and the unapproachable Supervisor Ruan Qin, if it weren’t for Mr. Zhongxuan’s respected and distinguished military life, his descendants might never have had the opportunity to "advise" Ruan Qin’s daughter.

But even as an "opportunity," not everyone wanted it.

At that time, Zhongxuan Zun sat lazily on the stone steps, his left hand resting on his knee, holding a scroll which lightly dangled downwards. His ears caught the intermittent casual conversation between his father and grandfather. His right elbow propped on his other knee, he supported his sharply-defined chin, gazing distantly at the sky, lost in thought.

Suddenly hearing this statement, he just tugged at the corner of his mouth and chuckled, "If even Supervisor Ruan can’t teach her well, she must be beyond help. I’d better not waste my energy."

Zhongxuan Mingguang’s hands slowed down even more...

Though he often thought about problems in simplistic terms, he was no fool. Especially since his sixty-plus years of life had mostly been shaped by lessons from the old man, the art of observing words and expressions was something he had mastered extensively.

The current atmosphere was indeed precarious...

The old man himself showed little expression and said in a neither harsh nor soft tone, "The standards passed down by our ancestors. Even if descendants achieve great things, they should still show respect."

"Grandfather," Zhongxuan Zun redirected his gaze, taking his elbow off his knee, and the scroll in his left hand spun around.

Beneath the sunlight, he smiled, "I’ve never really understood, what are standards?"

"’Standards’ are tools for drawing circles. ’Outline’ are tools for drawing squares. How did these two tools become ’standards’ that everyone must follow?"

"Who set these standards? Can we be sure that person was right? Does his circle really draw a circle, and his square really draw a square?"

"Generations of exceptional heroes have passed! Each era has its own flair, each era has its own standards,"

"As long as I am strong enough, stronger than all others. Someday I, too, could say..."

Holding the book in his left hand, he drew a circle in the air and laughed, "This is what a square should be."

The courtyard inside the Marquis of Bowang’s Mansion wasn’t particularly quiet at this time.

The servant boys kept moving around, and the gardeners kept tending to the plants. In short, everyone went about their tasks, seemingly oblivious to the discussion happening among the heads of the household.

But the atmosphere was, after all, slightly tense.

Zhongxuan Yunbo had spent his life in the military, with considerable prestige in the army, even the War God Jiang Mengxiong held some regard for him.

Looking to the past, he had supported the family; looking to the future, he had raised an outstanding child. After Zhongxuan Mingtu refused to lead the troops, in order to regain Emperor Qi’s trust, it was he who donned his old armor and went into battle for the country once more, fighting on the Qi Xia battlefield in a condition far from his prime.

In all of Qi Country, there weren’t many who could compare to his experience.

Within the Zhong Xuan Family itself, his word was law.

But Zhongxuan Zun was obviously too opinionated.

Zhongxuan Mingguang, acting as a responsible and committed father, as well as a clever and filial son, naturally could not remain silent in the face of this situation and setting.

He had to maintain the internal stability within the Zhong Xuan Family, dispel the tension between the grandfather and grandson, and push the Zhong Xuan Family toward a brighter and more promising future—to have more fun... But that’s digressing.

In any case, he had to step forward.

"Ahem," Zhongxuan Mingguang cleared his throat, "I have a couple of things to say about this matter..."

Mr. Zhongxuan suddenly stood up from his reclining chair, nearly causing the seated Zhongxuan Mingguang to fall over.

He glared at Zhongxuan Mingguang, an old lion in the twilight of his years, still exuding an imposing aura.

"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense, you have no strength at all, you’re just hot air! Have I told you to eat less? Out of my four sons, you’re the only glutton!"

After the scolding, he flung his sleeves and stormed off angrily.

Zhongxuan Mingguang blinked, looking somewhat aggrieved at his father’s retreating figure, then turned to look at his accomplished son.

Zhongxuan Zun silently unrolled the scroll and held it up, hiding his face behind it.

...

...

Knowing how precious this period was, no one, including Zheng Shangming and other acquaintances and friends, came to disturb. Even Yan Fu, who was exceptionally close, skipped their usual frequent gatherings.

Jiang Wang threw himself into cultivation with all his might, right up until the sixth day after the ceremony for the masters.

That was when it was time to head to the Pointing Generals’ Stage.

The Pointing Generals’ Stage was located to the west of the city.

In the past, commanders would use this place to appoint officers and set up formations, hence the name Pointing Generals’ Stage.

Beneath the stage was a vast drill ground.

Every elite troop of Qi Country, including those that had perished, had once been reviewed here. As such, the air was pervaded by a solemn, martial spirit that couldn’t be dispelled.

Standing on the stage and looking down, one could easily imagine the troops arranged in formation below, with flags fluttering across the sky. That thick military aura could also easily let one sense the atmosphere of the battlefield.

Jiang Wang, having been on battlefields before, didn’t feel out of place here.

For Ji Zhaonan, clad in silver armor with a frost spear, this place was as natural as a fish in water.

In contrast, Zhongxuan Zun, who was clad in white robes, seemed less suited to this environment—but in fact, he was not uncomfortable at all. He exuded an air of nonchalance, as though he could remain composed amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

The Pointing Generals’ Stage was very simply constructed; one could say it was just an unfenced, open platform.

What was unique were the various marks of swords, spears, and blades deeply etched onto it—reportedly left by the famous generals of Qi Country who had practiced their martial arts here.

As time passed, all the original spirit and grace had been weathered away.

But the direction, strength, and nuances of those engraved marks could be interpreted according to one’s understanding, allowing for a degree of recreation.

Jiang Wang, Ji Zhaonan, and Zhongxuan Zun, these three men, really had nothing to talk about. Together, they had even less.

So, they each took a corner of the stage, admiring those marks, striving to recreate the scenes of famous generals practicing their martial arts within their minds.

When the Imperial Court Adviser Yi Xingchen finished with the morning court and arrived, he was greeted with this scene—

Three people stood back to back in a triangular formation.

Ji Zhaonan stood upright, his eyes fixed on the ground, the spear named Shaohua in his hands trembling slightly, silent and without a breeze, as if he were mentally crossing weapons with those famous generals.

Zhongxuan Zun stood with his hands clasped behind his back, utterly absorbed.

And there was Jiang Qingyang, crouched down like an old farmer examining the soil, using the tips of his fingers to feel the traces of those martial practices.