Thirteen years after going missing, the eldest young master had suddenly returned.
The usually quiet Chen Residence suddenly stirred with a buzz of rumors and whispers.
Like a stone tossed into still water, ripples spread. Every servant began chattering in hushed voices behind closed doors.
The Chen family had strict rules, and normally, gossiping about the masters was taboo. But this piece of news was simply too shocking.
After all, when the eldest young master went missing, he had only been six years old, and now, he had somehow found his way home on his own.
Though Master Chen had remained haunted by guilt over what had happened all those years ago, and despite the family's rise to prosperity, he had never moved away.
Instead, he funded the renovation of the village around them, hoping, perhaps, that his child might one day find his way back.
But everyone knew, that was an impossible hope.
What could a six-year-old remember? Let alone the exact location of his childhood home?
And yet, the impossible had happened.
To make matters more tantalizing, this young man who had been driven away by famine and desperation had returned just as the humble fishing family had risen to become a respected gentry clan in Jishao Prefecture.
Naturally, the household staff couldn't help but speculate wildly, imagining all sorts of thrilling tales of wealth, inheritance, and conspiracy from within the grand mansion.
But in fact, they had all misunderstood one crucial point.
Chen Kuang hadn't gone missing.
He had been sold, by his own parents.
The original owner of this body had been precocious and sharp-minded even as a child. When he was taken away, his mind had been perfectly clear.
The nameless court musician who bought him had taken him around the house three times before leaving, telling him to memorize every detail of his surroundings.
Before reselling him, the musician even told him outright: "Your home is on the banks of the Eastern Court Lake in Jishao Prefecture."
In the Chen Residence parlor
All the servants had been dismissed.
"My Kuang'er... it really is my Kuang'er! You've suffered so much all these years!"
Lady Gan Tang was weeping tears of joy, reaching out to caress Chen Kuang's cheek.
When the servants had first reported the visitor, she hadn't dared to hold out much hope. For all these years, she'd never stopped searching for that nameless musician but to no avail.
She had nearly resigned herself to the belief that her firstborn son would become a lifelong obsession, a wound that would never heal.
But the moment she laid eyes on the blindfolded young man standing in the middle of the room, she had known instantly.
This was her son. The boy who haunted her every nightmare, whose blood-covered face returned to her again and again, over and over in her dreams.
There was no way she could be wrong.
Just one glance, and she was certain. After learning his reason for coming, she immediately arranged guest rooms for his "traveling companions" without the slightest doubt.
Chen Kuang held the middle-aged woman's hand in silence.
His emotions were indescribably complex.
He had long since fully merged with this body's memories. He was Chen Kuang, there was no doubt about that. Whether it was the version of him consumed by vengeance, or the unknown musician in the palace, both were him.
So, on paper, accepting this body's parents shouldn't have been difficult.
At least, that's what he had assumed.
But the reality was different. As he stood inside the opulent Chen Residence, feeling the softness of the woman's well-maintained, smooth hands... he felt an involuntary repulsion.
That rejection didn't come from him, it came from the original soul.
From the child who had been blinded and sold.
From the youth whose every skill was wasted, who was bullied in the palace's lowest ranks, enduring thirteen hopeless, bitter years.
And the parents who had caused it all... had been living in comfort for who knows how long.
That hatred and resentment still roiled within him, unresolved.
Chen Rong, the patriarch of the Chen family, now over forty with streaks of white in his hair, sat in the master's seat, having cultivated some measure of presence over the years.
Watching his wife and son reunite below, he clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, trying to stand several times.
But the crushing guilt he had buried for more than a decade left him unable to move.
Even trying to speak, his mouth trembled uncontrollably.
The handful of rice they had bought with the sale of their son now sat in his throat like a fishbone.
Still, Master Chen was no longer the same starving fisherman he had been. He drew a deep breath, cleared his raspy throat, and said:
"Kuang'er... how did you find your way home? What's your life like now?"
Madam Gan Tang immediately scolded him, "Chen Da-tou, of all the questions to ask, you ask this one?"
"Kuang'er's been through so much to get here. Let him rest first! What's with this interrogation?"
As she spoke, her emotions flared again.
She cradled Chen Kuang's callused hands with teary eyes.
"If it weren't for what happened back then, would Kuang'er even need to 'find his way back' now? What nonsense!"
She had been born into a scholarly family herself and had cut ties with them to marry Chen Rong. In truth, part of his rise was due to the Gan family quietly helping them after all.
After so many years, she had the air of a true matron of a wealthy household, but the old habit of scolding like a fisherwoman never quite went away.
Chen Rong smiled awkwardly but refused to back down.
Chen Kuang understood his father's caution. For the sake of his household's stability and safety, it made sense to question whether this was really his son.
But... he had no intention of being understanding right now.
He touched the blindfold on his face and said flatly:
"Back then, before that musician took me away, he had me walk around our home three times. I endured the pain and memorized every brick by the wall, every tree nearby, every inch of soil on the roadside."
"I remember exactly what our home looked like. Does Master Chen still remember? I do."
"I remember it all. Even after thirteen years of blindness, it's still vivid in my mind."
"You want to know how I came back? That's how."
Chen Rong shifted uncomfortably, then hurried to explain, "I didn't mean it like that... I just wanted to know how you've lived all these years..."
Chen Kuang smiled thinly. "Not as grandly as Master Chen, of course. I was just a street performer, making a living by selling my talent."
"In fact, I suppose I should thank you. If I hadn't been blinded and forced to pick up a trade, I'd probably have starved long ago."
"Oh-"
His tone dropped cold. "I wonder if Master Chen remembers... which of my eyes you stabbed first?"
Chen Rong instantly froze.
After a long silence, he stood up awkwardly and said, "Kuang'er, it was your father who wronged you!"
He stepped forward emotionally. "Back then, I had no choice. If I hadn't done that, our whole family would have starved!"
"You may have lost your sight, but at least you lived-"
"I remember," Chen Kuang interrupted. "It was the right eye."
"Because Master Chen, was left-handed. You practiced using your right hand for years. I wonder... have you gotten used to it yet?"
Chen Rong faltered, tears suddenly falling down his cheeks.
He muttered, "I never got used to it... how could I..."
He blinked hard, then caught Madam Gan Tang's strange expression and suddenly felt ashamed.
Covering his face, he mumbled, "I won't say another word! Not another word!"
Gan Tang gave him a punch. "What are you waiting for? Go fetch An'er and Ning'er to meet their big brother!"
Chen Rong had no pride left. He stumbled out, practically fleeing.
Gan Tang turned to Chen Kuang and huffed, "Ignore him. The man's brain hasn't grown any, even after all these years. His pride has, though!"
"Poor and useless-'Kuang'er, do not return.'"
Chen Kuang suddenly said gently, "Mother, do you remember that line? You embroidered it on my cloth doll."
"I carried that doll with me for thirteen years. I lost it not long ago."
Gan Tang was stunned, then quickly said, "Losing it is good! That poem said not to return to poverty. But now we're rich, and you must stay!"
She reached up to stroke his hair like a child's.
"Mother will take care of you for another hundred and thirty years!"