Chapter 121: Striving to Live Another Decade or Eight Years

Spring Radiance Hall was filled with a joyous and harmonious atmosphere.

For this family banquet, only two tables had been set. Song Ci sat at one table with the men of the household, while the Eldest Madam and her two sisters-in-law sat at the other with the family’s only two young ladies.

As for Old Master Song, word was that he had taken his two concubines to some lakeside to go bird-watching, leaving instructions that he would not be returning for the festival. Everyone in the mansion was accustomed to this master coming and going like a ghost.

Song Ci observed her second son, Song Zhicheng. Now that he had washed and groomed himself, the resemblance to Wu Song was gone; instead, he appeared rugged and burly, with a square jaw, thick brows, and large eyes, giving him a somewhat imposing and stern air.

He was the complete opposite of her eldest son, who was as sharp as a razor. Then, looking at her youngest son, who was flighty and immature, she wondered what kind of character her third son—whom she had yet to meet—might be. Oh, right, he was her concubine-born son.

"Mother, why are you staring at me without blinking?" Song Zhicheng asked with a smile. "Is it possible that flowers have sprouted on your son’s face, leaving you so mesmerized?"

"Do you take me for your wife, to be so mesmerized by you?" Song Ci retorted, glancing at Lady Jiang, whose eyes were constantly darting toward her husband. Just look at that—those little eyes, filled with an admiration and adoration that was practically overflowing. Look at how excited she was.

Hearing Song Ci’s teasing, Lady Jiang’s face turned as red as a ripe apple, and she quickly lowered her head. Seeing this, Lady Lu, sitting at the other table, felt that the crispy meat in her mouth no longer tasted savory; it had turned sour.

Song Zhicheng had not expected Song Ci to say such a thing, so he chuckled. "My wife must be as mesmerized as one can possibly be."

Good grief, he was truly unrefined. Song Ci rolled her eyes.

"I am just glad that you are well, Mother. When I received the letter at home, I was terrified and started my journey back immediately. But two days later, news came that you had awakened, and Eldest Brother told me there was no rush, which is why I only just arrived back at the mansion today." Song Zhicheng looked apologetic as he raised his wine cup. "Mother, I am an unfilial son. I shall penalize myself with three cups to beg your forgiveness."

He downed the first cup in one go and immediately poured two more. Song Ci suspected that this son drank wine as if it were water.

"We are one family, why speak of such things? Am I not sitting here perfectly fine? You all needn’t worry so much; I will try my best to live a little longer," Song Ci said.

Song Zhiyuan’s hand paused, and he set down his chopsticks. Seeing this, everyone else also put down their chopsticks and looked over.

Song Ci asked, "Oh, why has everyone stopped? Please, keep eating."

Song Zhiyuan replied, "Mother, you must never say such things again. You will live for a hundred years."

Song Ci nodded quickly, "Yes, yes, of course." In her heart, however, she thought that living a hundred years was impossible, but she would strive to make it another eight or ten years.

Lady Lu gave her son a look, and Song Lingzhou stood up. "Grandmother, I learned a poem today. Let me recite it for you."

"Wonderful."

Song Lingzhou stood tall, chest puffed out, and recited clearly: "'Intending to solemnize the Dragon Boat Festival, one should not forget the Double Ninth. With nine-leaf calamus and handfuls of golden chrysanthemums, we toast together with jade goblets.'"

Song Ci, who lacked the cultural refinement to understand the poem, simply found it amusing to watch her little chubby grandson bobbing his head as he recited, so she clapped her hands.

Seeing this, the Eldest Madam also signaled her son, and Song Lingsu said, "Grandson has one as well: 'With crane-white hair brushing my shoulders, a foot in length, thirty-five Dragon Boat Festivals since I left home...'"

Song Zhiyuan stroked his beard and nodded to himself, satisfied.

"Grandmother, let me perform a sword dance for you." Song Lingzhao had someone fetch a peach-wood sword and began to dance, while his twin brother performed on the flute.

The youngest, Song Zhiyu, scratched his head, feeling quite dismissive; his nephews were making him look like an uncultured oaf.

"Mother, watch Fourth Son perform a trick for you." Song Zhiyu let out a "Ha!" as he snatched a handkerchief from the maid behind him. With a bit of flourish and hocus-pocus, he pulled out a flower and presented it to Song Ci.

Song Ci took the flower, her eyes crinkling with a smile. Her boys were truly filial.