At the Wei Manor in South City, the housekeeper, his face still bruised, walked through a corridor lined with famous paintings. He trod on a thick carpet and arrived at the door to a study.
A servant guarding the door pushed one of the double doors open and said in a low voice, "Housekeeper An, the master is waiting for you."
Housekeeper An straightened his clothes and carefully entered the exquisitely furnished study. He bowed to an old man sitting there reading a newspaper. "Master."
Wei Hang was a man approaching ninety, but he was very well-preserved. He still had a full head of thick, neatly combed black hair, with only a touch of frost at his temples.
His face showed no signs of sagging skin, and he wore a perfectly trimmed short beard. He was thin but energetic, looking no older than forty or fifty. The medicines constantly supplied by Central City ensured his physical condition.
