The Fourteenth Year

New Year's Eve was lively, and firecrackers sounded everywhere.

Yan Qingyun's heart was still. He was old, tired, and helpless.

Standing at the corridor, the servant reminded him, "Master, it's cold. You have to take care of your body."

Yan Qingyun stood still and looked at the bright firecrackers rising in the distant night sky. His heart was filled with sorrow and bitterness.

He touched his old and cold hand, his eyes filled with desolation.

After a long time, he sighed and muttered, "Did I really do something wrong?"

After a few moments of self-doubt, he shook his head and denied it. He was not wrong.

Her son, Yan Zhiyuan, was not calm enough and not scheming enough. If he stood too high, he would be easily targeted. If he stood too high, something would happen sooner or later.