The next day, on Christmas, a light snow started falling over the South Sea.
By the French-style fountain at the Mansion, crouched two figures, one white and one black.
Wrapped in an ankle-length cotton coat, Xiao Shang Yin kicked at the thin snow on the ground, occasionally glancing towards the entrance ahead.
Beside him squatted a grown, strong White Tiger, even taller than him.
Soon, Yan Emperor's convoy turned off the side road into the mansion courtyard, catching Shang Yin's eye as he called out, patting the tiger's head, "Baibai, it's Grandpa."
The little guy said as he ran forward, just as Shang Zonghai, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, stepped out of the car.
The old man was dressed in a dark gray Tang suit, with a coat of the same color draped over his shoulders. Although his temples were frosted with age, there was no trace of senility, only an added sense of maturity and grace bestowed by the years.
