My Ares Son-in-Law

Its upright posture resembled a majestic mountain peak, standing firm and unyielding.

It is also like a vigorous ancient pine tree, which remains resilient despite wind and rain.

His back was straight, his shoulders were broad, and every step he took was steady and firm.

It felt as if I were standing on solid ground, not on these smooth floor tiles.

His existence is like a bridge between this ancient community and the modern world, connecting two different times and spaces, making his presence impossible to ignore.

His hair and beard were already snow-white.

That white was not the withered white that comes from aging and decay, devoid of life and luster.

Rather, it is like pure white snow covering a vigorous pine tree, pristine and untouched by any dust.

His long silver beard hung down naturally, fluttering gently in the breeze across his chest, rising and falling slightly with his breath.

This added to his otherworldly and ethereal aura, as if he were not a mortal, but an immortal who had descended from a misty fairyland to the mortal realm.

However, what stands in stark contrast to his snow-white hair and beard is his face.

His skin was rosy and full, with an inner glow, as if he had been exceptionally favored by time, showing few of the wrinkles and signs of age one would expect in their eighties.

The texture of her skin was as full as a ripe fruit, round and smooth, radiating a vitality that defied common sense.

It makes one wonder if time has stood still for him.

What is most captivating about him are his eyes.

Unlike ordinary old people, their skin is not dull and gloomy, having lost its former luster, as if shrouded in a layer of mist.

Instead, it shone astonishingly bright, like the most brilliant star in the cold night, shimmering with a mysterious and dazzling light in the darkness.

It is like a gemstone suddenly illuminated by a torch at the bottom of a deep pool, sharp and clear, as if it can penetrate all hypocrisy and pretense.

His gaze held a profound understanding and wisdom gained from experiencing the world, as if everything in the world was within his perception.

They also possess the majesty and domineering aura of someone who has long held a high position, making people afraid to look them directly in the eye and inspiring awe.

However, at this moment, those star-like eyes did not hold the peace and tranquility that comes with the passage of time, but rather an unyielding gloom and coldness.

His gaze was like a sharp, tangible blade; wherever it swept across, the air seemed to freeze for a moment.

An invisible pressure swept over me, and a chill crept up my spine, making me shiver involuntarily.

He simply stood quietly with his hands behind his back, his posture as upright as a pine tree, without making any unnecessary movements.

However, he naturally exudes an aura of profound composure and unshakeable strength.

It is an outward manifestation of a spirit and will forged through countless trials, like a towering mountain that stands firm and unyielding.

It was like a deep, calm sea, undisturbed, needing no words to subdue all the restlessness and unease around it, making everyone present feel a sense of awe and submission from the depths of their souls.

The already crowded people around seemed to be controlled by an invisible force.

Under the powerful aura emanating from the old man, people spontaneously and as if receiving some mysterious command, retreated to both sides in unison.

The scene was as spectacular as the myth of Moses parting the sea, with the crowd surging to both sides like a tide, instantly creating a wide passage.

The once noisy and bustling space was now somewhat quiet, with only soft exclamations and the sound of footsteps remaining.

A few young people who were standing close by initially seemed curious and indifferent.

Suddenly, I felt as if a huge rock was pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Their breathing became rapid involuntarily, as if they had just finished a vigorous run.

An unnatural flush rose to her cheeks, as if they had been roasted by fire.

They inexplicably felt as if the air around them had solidified, the oxygen seemed to have thinned, and each breath became exceptionally difficult. An invisible pressure, like a thick cocoon, tightly enveloped them.

It made their hearts pound uncontrollably, and waves of palpitations washed over them.

They involuntarily lowered their heads, as if that would allow them to escape the invisible pressure.

Or they would hurriedly look away, not daring to meet the old man's gaze.

The old man's gaze seemed to carry an immense weight; bearing it for even a moment longer would be an indescribable burden.

It stirred a deep sense of awe and fear in them from the bottom of their hearts.

Just then, a middle-aged man with a meticulously combed mustache appeared on the outskirts of the crowd.

He wasn't very tall, but he was standing on tiptoe, waving his arms vigorously and waving loudly, his voice sounding particularly abrupt in the quiet atmosphere.

"Master Yang!"

"this way please!"

He held up a sign to welcome people from the airport.

The sign was yellow with black lettering, and its design was so simple it was almost rudimentary.

The top only has four wiry, calligraphic characters: “Ancient City Chen Family”.

This brand seemed somewhat out of place with his impeccably tailored suits, neatly tied ties, and gleaming shoes; he exuded the air of an urban elite.

However, this seemingly incongruous sign strangely resonated with the atmosphere of that old-fashioned team.

It's as if it was meant to be here, becoming a unique symbol connecting the ancient and the modern.

The old man's eyes were like lightning, sharp and majestic, as if they could see through all falsehood and pretense.

In an instant, his gaze was precisely fixed on the man with the mustache.

There was no unnecessary small talk, not a single polite word.

The old man had a stern expression and strode forward.

His steps remained steady and firm, each step carrying an undeniable power.

The sound of footsteps, "thump, thump," was particularly clear in the passageway that the crowd automatically parted.

It was as if a heavy hammer had struck people's hearts, making those around them feel the invisible pressure even more.

Eleven men in gray robes followed silently behind him.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, like meticulously trained shadows, without making a single unnecessary sound.

Their steps were synchronized, and their breathing rates seemed to be the same.

The level of their understanding was so perfect that it was as if one person had been split into twelve parts.

The group, like a winding gray dragon, soon arrived in front of the man with the mustache.

Upon seeing the old man and his party arrive, the man with the mustache immediately bowed deeply, his posture extremely humble, his waist bent so low it almost touched the ground.

His face was plastered with a fawning smile, and his voice carried a cautious reverence.

"Master Yang, you've finally arrived!"

"My father has already prepared a banquet at the Wanye Restaurant and specially instructed me to be here to welcome you and give you a proper welcome..."

His tone was soft and cautious, each word spoken as if carefully considered. (End of Chapter)