The account book was placed in front of Cheng Changyan.

He quickly flipped through it, his gaze fixed on a string of Arabic numerals.

Li Zhiyue leaned over and asked, “Lord Cheng, can you read it?”

Cheng Changyan took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Miss Li. I must excuse myself for a moment.”

He stood up and strode outside.

Once outside the teahouse, he took his horse, mounted it, and galloped through the bustling market.

After exiting the city gate, he rode for about a quarter of an hour until he arrived at the entrance of a small courtyard.

Inside the courtyard, a girl of about fifteen or sixteen was watering a vegetable patch.

She looked up at the sound of hooves and exclaimed in surprise, “Brother, what time is it? Why are you back so early?”

Usually, Cheng Changyan wouldn’t return home until dusk.

She wiped her hands and hurried out, led the horse into the stable, fed it, then caught up with Cheng Changyan. “You look so serious. Did something happen?”

Cheng Changyan walked straight into the last room at the back.

As he opened the door, a wave of dust greeted him. Clearly, the room hadn’t been used or cleaned in a long time.

Without waiting for the dust to settle, he stepped inside, pulled out a small chest from under the bed, and said softly, “Wanfeng, give me the key.”

Cheng Wanfeng’s lips trembled slightly.

She slowly exhaled. “Brother, are you sure you want to open Mother’s belongings?”

Cheng Changyan nodded firmly.

Cheng Wanfeng took off a cord from around her neck.

Attached to it was a small key, its edges worn from frequent handling.

With a click, the chest opened.

Inside were only a few simple items: a broken jade pendant, a wooden comb, a hairpin, and several small booklets.

Cheng Changyan picked up a booklet and opened it.

What he saw wasn’t the script of the Great Wei Dynasty, but a simpler form of writing—more like abbreviated versions of Wei characters.

Flipping further, he saw many numbers—exactly the same as the ones he had seen in Li Zhiyue’s account book!

“Brother, what is it?”

Cheng Changyan closed the booklet and put it back in the chest.

He locked the chest and returned the key to Cheng Wanfeng.

His voice was low: “I think… I may have met someone from the same world as our mother.”

The key in Cheng Wanfeng’s hand slipped to the ground.

She quickly picked it up, her voice trembling with disbelief. “Are you sure he’s from the same place as Mother? Did you ever ask her… did she ever make it home? I want to know—I really want to know!”

As she spoke, tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

Since she was born, the words her mother said most often were, “I want to go home.”

As a child, she never knew where her mother’s “home” was.

No matter how she asked, her mother would never answer.

Her mother would often sit silently at the doorway, staring into the sky, toward the distance.

Sometimes, she wouldn’t speak a single word for three or four months.

The doctor said she might be insane.

Driven mad by homesickness…

One day, her mother suddenly pulled her aside and told her many strange and fantastical things—stories of a world she had never heard of, could never imagine.

She really thought her mother had recovered.

But the next day, her mother never opened her eyes again.

She died in spring, when a hundred flowers were in bloom.

Following her mother’s final wishes, they cremated her and scattered her ashes into the rivers, hoping the currents would carry her spirit home.

“Don’t cry,” Cheng Changyan said. “The one Mother worried about the most was you. If it weren’t for your birth, she might not have held on as long as she did.”

Cheng Wanfeng forced her tears back.

“I’ll find a chance to ask her. Don’t worry.”

Cheng Changyan looked up at the distant white clouds.

In this life, all their mother had wanted was freedom, yet she ended up in the unfree land of Wei.

The first half of her life was imprisoned, and the latter half she stayed in the capital because of her children.

Perhaps… death had been her true release.

Could the death of the body really allow the soul to return to its homeland?

…

Li Zhiyue was constantly busy.

The teahouse business was finally on track, and now the next big thing was building the opera house.

To meet the schedule, she told Old Tian not to spare any expense and hired three construction foremen at once. In less than two weeks, the opera house had already taken shape.

She locked herself at home every day writing scripts. Having seen so many modern novels and TV dramas, writing a few storybooks was no challenge for her.

Time flew by, and soon it was September.

With the summer heat fading, the days were finally becoming comfortable again.

One morning, Bai Ruzhu dressed to the nines, preparing to take Li Zhiyue to a banquet.

Li Zhiyue didn’t really want to go.

But then she thought: the opera house was opening soon—this banquet could be a great way to advertise.

She put on gold and silver jewelry and followed Bai Ruzhu into the carriage.

They were attending the one-month celebration of the current Grand Preceptor’s grandson—this was Grand Preceptor Song’s legitimate eldest grandson.

Naturally, the banquet was grand, with most noble families in the capital invited.

The carriage stopped at the Song family residence. Li Zhiyue followed Bai Ruzhu inside.

“Lady and Miss of the Marquis of Xiangyang have arrived, bearing a pair of top-grade ruby corals!” the steward at the entrance announced loudly.

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd.

Red coral was already rare—ruby coral, even rarer. And top-grade ones at that. To gift a pair?

The Xiangyang Marquis’s family was clearly lavish beyond measure.

“With that teahouse raking in silver daily, of course they can afford it.”

“I heard they’re building an opera house now, in the Pear Blossom Alley to the east—three stories high! You can see it from a distance.”

“An opera stage with three floors? What a show! Talk about living in luxury.”

“Didn’t they buy the Lingfeng Opera Troupe? Of course, they need a stage for them to perform, or it’d be a waste.”

“No matter how much that teahouse earns, this seems like a huge splurge!”

Bai Ruzhu sighed. “You all are wiser in managing households. Building the opera house cost us nearly half of our fortune… but money can always be earned again, right? Oh, once it’s finished, I must invite all you ladies to enjoy the opera and tea—do grace us with your presence.”

Everyone nodded. Most were used to watching small private performances.

A three-story opera stage? That was a first—they were intrigued.

As they chatted, the Grand Preceptor’s wife, Old Lady Song, came out smiling. “Lady Xiangyang, such an extravagant gift! When your family hosts a banquet, I’ll have no idea what to send in return.”

Bai Ruzhu was about to reply when she suddenly froze.

She spotted Madam Zhen and her daughter standing behind Old Lady Song.

Her face was full of confusion.

How could someone like Madam Zhen—just an ordinary woman—have entered the Grand Preceptor’s family banquet, let alone be standing so closely behind the lady of the house?

“Perfect timing, let me introduce them,” Old Lady Song turned to the crowd. “These two behind me are Madam Lu and Miss Lu. Three days ago, I fell into the water while praying at the temple for my grandson, and Miss Lu saved me. Madam Lu and her daughter are alone in the world, so they’ll be staying with us for now—as honored guests of the Song family.”