In the afternoon, Zhulan skipped her midday rest and stood eagerly at the front gate of the residence, waiting for her son to return home. When she caught sight of the carriage, she said excitedly, "The carriage is here!"
Zhao hurried to follow her mother down the steps. "Mother, please take it slow."
The carriage came to a halt, and Chang Xhong jumped down after lifting the curtain. "Mother, your son has returned!"
Zhulan grabbed her son's hand and then raised her hand to touch his face. If it weren't for the norms of ancient times, she would have hugged him tightly. "You've grown taller; you're already as tall as your mother. Good, very good."
Chang Xhong, however, burst into tears. "Mother, when I left, you were in good health and looked so dignified. It's been a year and a half, and you've aged so much."
When he had left, his mother's gray hair had been hidden and unnoticeable, but now there were considerably more strands of silver. He sobbed loudly.
