Traveling back to ancient times to get rich

Chapter 393 Rectifying the Name of the Wordless Stele

Sunlight slanted into the courtyard of the Murong residence, and the wisteria trellis under the eaves rippled with purple waves in the wind. Murong Qingfeng leaned back in a carved reclining chair, his fingertips gently caressing the Xiangfei bamboo flute that had been gathering dust on the table for many years. The dark red tear stains on the bamboo surface seemed to tell the story of the vicissitudes of time.

"Senior, it's time for your medicine." Song Ming walked in carrying a cup of water, his gray robe still carrying a faint scent of medicine. Since he came to the Murong residence, he has personally prepared and administered medicine to Murong Qingfeng every day. The aroma of medicine, mixed with the fragrance of flowers and the sweet taste of water, filled the courtyard.

Murong Qingfeng sighed softly and put down his flute. "Brother Song, I won't take my medicine today. How about playing a tune for me?" His voice carried a hint of anticipation, yet also a subtle nervousness. These past few days, thanks to Song Ming's meticulous treatment, his cough had become much less frequent, and his breathing was much smoother than before.

Upon hearing this, Song Ming's eyes flashed with surprise, then he smiled and said, "I couldn't be happier! It's a perfect opportunity to try out my newly made seven-stringed zither." As he spoke, he carried out an antique paulownia wood zither from the side room, its strings gleaming softly in the sunlight. "But you still need to take your medicine. It's not much, just this one Xiaoyao Pill. Same as always, take the medicine and drink the water."

Murong Qingfeng said, "Alright, alright, let's play a duet after you take your medicine." He picked up the pill and took it. He was also very surprised. Since taking the medicine, his health had really improved a lot. Moreover, he always felt that the water Song Ming gave him was sweet and had a warm feeling to it.

Murong Qing, who was intently practicing calligraphy, suddenly overheard his adoptive father and Mr. Song's conversation. His eyes lit up like a shooting star in the night sky. He swiftly put away his brush and ink, his movements clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation. Then, like a nimble cheetah, he took the Qingfeng sword from the sword rack, its blade gleaming coldly, as if awaiting its master's summons.

Holding his Qingfeng sword, Murong Qing walked lightly to the center of the courtyard. His posture was as upright as a pine tree, and his temperament as elegant as an orchid. He smiled slightly and said to his adoptive father and Mr. Song, "Adoptive father, Mr. Song, let me perform a sword dance to entertain everyone!" His voice was clear and melodious, like heavenly music.

Having said that, Murong Qing's figure flashed, swift as a ghost. The green sword in his hand drew a graceful arc in the air, the blade emitting a crisp whistling sound, as if cheering. His swordsmanship was superb; every strike was precise and powerful. As the sword light flashed, his robes fluttered, like a fairy dancing gracefully, or like green bamboo swaying in the wind, so resolute and supple.

The mournful sound of the xiao (vertical flute) seemed to tell of Murong Qingfeng's illness and loneliness over the years; the clear and melodious sound of the zither, like a gentle stream, soothed people's hearts and healed the wounds left by time; the sharp glint of the sword, like the arrival of frost, added a touch of heroic spirit to the tranquil courtyard. The three elements intertwined to create a breathtaking scene, captivating all who beheld it.

As the music ended, Murong Qing sheathed his sword and stood still, a slight sweat on his forehead, but his breathing remained steady. A confident and satisfied smile radiated from his face as he exchanged a knowing smile with his adoptive father and Mr. Song, their eyes gleaming with a sense of lingering satisfaction.

For the next ten days or so, the Murong residence seemed to transform into a sea of ​​joy, filled with laughter and a lively atmosphere.

Gu Mochen brought much of the latest news about the imperial court, giving people a deeper understanding of some major events. His arrival not only brought information but also added a sense of solemnity and seriousness to the Murong residence.

Ye Qingchen's recounting of strange tales and anecdotes from the martial arts world captivated everyone. Her stories, filled with thrills, excitement, and romance, fueled people's longing for that mysterious world of martial arts.

Dong Nanxi and Duan Ling'er brought the children to visit Murong Qingfeng, and the courtyard was immediately filled with the children's joyful laughter. The children ran and played in the yard, and their innocence brought boundless vitality to the entire mansion.

Every guest who visited was amazed by Murong Qingfeng's transformation. The once frail old man now had a rosy complexion and his eyes shone with a long-lost radiance. His physical condition had clearly improved, and he was remarkably energetic. The guests marveled at Murong Qingfeng's recovery as a miracle and offered their heartfelt blessings for his health.

On the morning of the fourteenth day, Murong Qingfeng stood in the courtyard and took a deep breath. The air was filled with the fragrance of grass and earth, the usual sweet and pungent smell was gone. He stretched his limbs and felt his inner energy flowing smoothly through his meridians, as if he had returned to his youth.

"Godfather, you look better and better!" Murong Qing came over with a cup of morning tea, his eyes full of joy.

Murong Qingfeng looked at his adopted son with loving eyes, but a complex mix of emotions welled up inside him. These past few days, he often thought back to that night thirty years ago, when the fire illuminated half the sky, and the heart-wrenching cries of the Dong family still seemed to echo in his ears. In truth, he had started that fire to prevent the Dong family members from being dishonored after their deaths. He had secretly ordered their remains to be moved to a mountain in Lucheng, where blank tombstones were erected.

"Qing'er, go and call Dong Nanxi here. I have something to say to him." Murong Qingfeng's voice was deep and firm.

When Dong Nanxi entered the study, Murong Qingfeng was staring blankly at a landscape painting. The painting depicted a green mountain with several tombstones faintly visible among its peaks. "Nanxi, I want to go to the Dong family cemetery to pay my respects and personally carve the inscriptions for their tombstones," Murong Qingfeng said, turning around with a look of deep remorse.

Dong Nanxi was stunned. Before, he had interrogated those who had harmed the Dong family, but no one admitted to starting the fire. He never imagined it would end like this. After a moment, he bowed deeply: "Godfather, you are so kind."

Soon, the group set off for Lu City. The carriage moved slowly along the official road. Murong Qingfeng gazed at the scenery rushing past the window, his thoughts swirling. Twenty years ago, he had ridden to the Dong family in the same way, never imagining it would be the beginning of a nightmare. Now, he finally had the chance to carve their names, to vindicate those innocent lives.

The mountains of Lucheng were serene and solemn. When Murong Qingfeng saw the row of blank tombstones, his eyes welled up with tears. He took out the carving knife and cinnabar he had prepared beforehand, and was about to carve the four characters "Tomb of Lady Dong" on the first tombstone when Dong Nanxi stopped him. Dong Nanxi said to Murong Qingfeng, "Father, carve 'Tomb of Murong Qingfeng's wife, Lady Dong.'" Murong Qingfeng saw that this son had also acknowledged him, so he nodded and began to carve. The sound of the carving knife striking the stone echoed through the mountains, as if it were a dialogue across time.

Dong Nanxi and the children presented flowers, while Duan Ling'er softly recounted her experiences over the years. Murong Qingfeng carved the inscription while telling the story of the past. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a golden glow on the man who had longed for Dong Nanxi's mother for half his life.