Cultivation of immortality begins with an eighty-year-old eunuch.

Chen Fan stood in the shadows for a long time before turning over and entering the hospital.

The pavilion in the middle of the lake in the back garden is still there, but the lotus in the pavilion has long since withered, leaving only a few withered stems standing in the murky water. The moonlight shines on the lake, making the ripples dim, and the scene is no longer as enchanting as it once was.

There are people in the pavilion.

A middle-aged man dressed in plain clothes sat alone at a stone table, with a pot of wine and a cup in front of him. He had his back to Chen Fan, his back slightly hunched, and the moonlight cast a long shadow of him.

Chen Fan recognized the figure from behind.

Zhao Yan.

He has aged considerably since seventy years ago. The once gentle and dignified prince, who commanded respect without anger, now has gray hair and his shoulders are no longer as straight as before.

Chen Fan remained silent.

He stood outside the pavilion for a moment before coughing softly.

Zhao Yan's hand froze, and the wine glass stopped in mid-air.

He didn't turn around, his voice hoarse but calm: "Who?"

"Your Highness, this is our family."

That "our home" was like a key that unlocked a long-sealed door.

Zhao Yan slowly turned around.

Under the moonlight, his face looked much older, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw Chen Fan—like a spring suddenly gushing out of a dry well.

"Chen...Chen Gongfeng?"

His voice was trembling.

Chen Fan walked into the pavilion, sat down opposite him, picked up the wine pot on the table and smelled it. It was the same fourth-grade spiritual wine from back then, but it had been stored for a long time and most of its spiritual energy had dissipated.

"Your Highness, I'm back."

Zhao Yan stared intently at him, his gaze moving from his face to the white hair at his temples, then to those still calm, watery eyes. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and trembling with disbelief:

"Seventy years...seventy years. I thought you were dead."

"Not dead." Chen Fan poured himself a glass of wine. "I'm tough; I won't die."

Zhao Yan suddenly smiled.

That smile was more like a grimace, yet his eyes were red. He grabbed Chen Fan's wrist with such force that it was as if he feared Chen Fan would vanish at any moment.

"You old codger... I heard you disappeared in the Boundless Sea years ago, and then there was no news of you afterward. I sent people to look for you, but they searched for ten years and couldn't find you..."

He released his hand, wiped his face, and his voice regained some of its composure, yet still carried an barely suppressed excitement: "Han Cen and those two old geezers, Ouyang, also looked for you. Every year they go to the teleportation hall in Beifeng City to wait, saying that if you're still alive, you'll always come back."

Chen Fan held his wine glass without saying a word.

Looking at Zhao Yan's aged face and the desolate state of the once brightly lit mansion, he felt a mix of emotions he couldn't quite describe.

This person helped him when he was at his lowest point.

It wasn't because he had much use, but simply because Zhao Yan felt that a capable person shouldn't be overlooked.

"Your Highness... have you not been doing well these past few years?" Chen Fan asked.

Zhao Yan gave a bitter smile, picked up his wine cup, and drank it all in one gulp: "After the fourth prince died, although Father Emperor didn't depose me as crown prince, his heart had long since turned away. Those who followed me have either left or scattered. Han Cen and Ouyang have been transferred to the outskirts, and now my residence can't even retain a decent retainer."

He paused, looked at Chen Fan, and said with a hint of self-mockery, "Look at me now, how can I look like a regent prince? I look more like a prisoner under house arrest."

Chen Fan paused for a moment, then finished the wine in his glass.

"Your Highness, please wait here. I'll go and fetch two people."

Before Zhao Yan could respond, he had already gotten up and left the pavilion.

He knew where Han Cen and Ouyang Ye lived. Back when they were in the Hall of Offerings, he had figured out their habits—Han Cen loved wine and lived in a shabby alley in the south of the city; Ouyang Ye preferred quiet and secluded himself in a small courtyard in the east of the city to refine elixirs.

Chen Fan went to Han Cen's place first.

When Han Cen pushed open the courtyard gate, he saw an elderly man with gray hair squatting in front of the stove cooking porridge. Hearing the noise, Han Cen looked up, his cloudy old eyes narrowed, and the spoon in his hand fell into the pot with a "clatter".

"Chen...Chen Gongfeng?"

"Elder Han, it's been seventy years! You've burned this porridge."

Han Cen was stunned for several breaths, then tears streamed down his face. He grabbed Chen Fan's arm, trembling like a leaf: "You old bastard! You're still alive! I told you you were tough! That old devil Ouyang didn't believe me, saying you'd probably perished in the Boundless Sea..."

Chen Fan patted him on the shoulder without saying anything more.

The two then went to Ouyang Ye's courtyard.

When Ouyang Ye opened the door, he was still clutching a battle flag in his hand. Seeing Chen Fan, a crack appeared on his usually expressionless face. He opened his mouth, and after a long pause, managed to squeeze out a hoarse voice: "You're back?"

"I'm back."

By the time the three returned to the First Prince's residence, it was already late at night.

Zhao Yan had the old servant warm the wine again and ordered a few side dishes to be cooked. The lights in the pavilion in the middle of the lake were lit again, though not as grand as they used to be, they had a touch more warmth to them.

The four sat around a stone table, exchanging toasts.

Han Cen drank the fastest, his old face flushed, slamming his fist on the table as he recounted the events of yesteryear: "Back then, you made Zhao Yu so angry in the courtroom that his face turned green, and I watched with great pleasure! Later, when I heard you killed him, I was so scared I couldn't sleep for three days. I felt both thrilled and terrified..."

Ouyang Ye, unusually, drank a few more cups than usual, and became more talkative: "Lord Chen, after you left, I studied the formation you left behind for thirty years, and I still haven't figured out the last layer. If you have time someday, you must explain it to me."

Chen Fan smiled but didn't reply.

Zhao Yan sat to the side, watching this scene, his eyes shining brighter than the lanterns in the pavilion. He didn't say much, just drank cup after cup, occasionally glancing at Chen Fan as if to confirm that this wasn't a dream.

After several rounds of drinks, the night breeze grew cooler.

The withered lotus flowers on the lake swayed gently in the wind, and the moonlight cast the shadows of the four people on the water, swaying gently, like old shadows from seventy years ago.

Chen Fan put down his wine glass and looked at Zhao Yan.

Zhao Yan's sideburns were dazzlingly white in the moonlight, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were as deep as if carved by a knife, but there was still a fire in his eyes that had not been extinguished.

"Your Highness," Chen Fan said, his voice calm and ordinary, as if he were talking about something perfectly commonplace.

"Um?"

"Do you want to be the ruler of the Zhao state?"

The pavilion suddenly fell silent.

Han Cen's wine cup hovered at his lips, and Ouyang Ye's fingers stiffened slightly. Zhao Yan paused for a moment, then shook his head with a wry smile: "Chen Gongfeng, you've had too much to drink. In this state, I can't even leave the mansion, let alone be a ruler..."

"We didn't drink too much."

Chen Fan picked up the wine pot and refilled Zhao Yan's empty cup. His tone remained calm, yet carried an undeniable seriousness: "Your Highness was kind to our family back then, and we've remembered it for seventy years. Now that we're back, some debts must be settled, and some debts must be repaid."

He paused, his gaze falling on Zhao Yan's face.

"Your Highness, simply tell me whether you want to or not."

A night breeze swept across the lake, rippling the moonlight across the surface.

Zhao Yan's hand holding the wine glass trembled slightly. He looked at Chen Fan, at this old eunuch who was a Nascent Soul cultivator seventy years ago but whom he could not see through at all now, and suddenly felt his eyes sting.

He did not answer immediately.

Han Cen and Ouyang Ye exchanged a glance, both seeing something suppressed for a long time in each other's eyes.

After a long while, Zhao Yan drank the wine in his cup in one gulp and slammed the cup heavily on the stone table.

"think."

Just one word, but the voice seemed to come from deep within his chest.

Chen Fan nodded and said nothing more.

He picked up his wine glass and raised it to the three of them: "Then let's drink. We can talk about other things tomorrow."