On New Year's Eve, Yang Zhenshan's courtyard was bustling with excitement.
Many Yang family descendants gathered together, having a lively New Year's Eve dinner.
And on New Year's Day, countless visitors came to pay their respects.
Yang Zhenshan sat in the front yard, while Yu Qingyi stayed in the back yard, receiving wave after wave of younger generations who came to pay their respects.
In the hall of the front yard, Yang Zhenshan sat in a grand chair, smiling as he watched the younger generations come and bow.
"Dad, this is Song Shi. Do you remember him?" Yang Mingcheng led a young man of about twenty-four or twenty-five into the hall, followed by a six or seven-year-old child.
Yang Zhenshan cast him a glance, "Your father isn't senile yet!"
Song Shi smiled broadly as he knelt before Yang Zhenshan, bowing and saying, "Grand-disciple wishes Grandmaster a Happy New Year!"
"Song Yuanzhao wishes the Grandmaster a Happy New Year!" The little child also bowed respectfully.
