Time flies like a fleeting horse; another dozen years have passed.
Outside the Materia Medica Hall, the old locust tree grows more robust, its branches lush and dense, blocking out the sky and sun.
This morning, the door to the courtyard of the Materia Medica Hall was wide open.
A figure in a blue robe stood in the courtyard, tall and erect, with eyes as exquisite as jade; it was Qin Ping'an.
A long sword, with an ebony sword scabbard, hung at his waist, the sword tassels gently swaying in the breeze, exuding a scholarly aura, yet concealing an introverted sharpness.
Not long ago, he had just passed the Xiucai exams. Now, he was about to embark on a scholarly journey, traversing famous mountains and rivers to broaden his knowledge.
Qin Ping'an respectfully bowed deeply to Tang Xichen and Qin Yuan in front of the hall, his voice clear yet reverent:
"Mother, Father, your child is leaving!"
