HNYWEF -Chapter 200 The Home Got Taken While I Was Away

In the fifth year of Zhenguan, the tenth day of the seventh month.

Zhou Xiong’s carriage stopped at the gates of the Marquis’ residence.

He stepped down, stood at the entrance, and looked up at the plaque—“Residence of the Marquis of Jiuyuan County.” The golden characters gleamed brightly under the sun.

He stared at it for a moment, then pushed the door open and walked in.

The courtyard was quiet.

Old Chen was squatting in a corner watering the flowers. Hearing the movement, he turned around. The moment he saw Zhou Xiong, he froze—almost dropping the watering ladle in his hand.

“Lord Marquis? You’re back?”

Zhou Xiong nodded and took a couple of steps into the courtyard, then suddenly stopped and turned back.

“Where is Zhou Yi?”

Old Chen set down the ladle, stood up, and wiped his hands on his clothes.

“The young master went to work at the Ministry of Works. It’s been over a month already. He said it was your instruction, my lord.”

Zhou Xiong’s brows furrowed slightly.

He stood in the courtyard, looking at Old Chen’s innocent face, turning the thought over in his mind.

When had he ever given that instruction?

Before he left, he only told Zhou Yi to handle the reburial matters on his own authority. When had he told him to go to the Ministry of Works?

He hadn’t said anything.

Someone else had spoken in his place.

“Li Er? You damn—”

He muttered a curse, not loud, but Old Chen still heard it. He quickly lowered his head and pretended he hadn’t heard anything.

Zhou Xiong turned and strode into the main hall.

The curtain swayed and fell back into place. After a moment, he came out again.

He had changed clothes.

Now wearing court robes with a jade belt at his waist, his hair neatly tied up—he looked like a completely different person.

Old Chen stared blankly.

Why was the lord suddenly dressed in court attire again?

Zhou Xiong didn’t look at him. He walked past and left the courtyard.

The carriage was still waiting outside. The driver had been dozing against the shaft; hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes and immediately straightened up when he saw Zhou Xiong’s attire.

“To the Ministry of Works.”

The driver responded at once, cracked the whip, and the carriage set off.

—

Ministry of Works, Administrative Hall.

Zhou Yi sat behind the desk, a stack of documents in front of him, holding a brush as he reviewed them.

His handwriting wasn’t particularly good, but it was neat and careful—each stroke precise, without the slightest carelessness.

The officials nearby occasionally spoke in low voices, flipping through documents. The entire hall was quiet.

Then the door was suddenly pushed open.

Not gently—forced all the way open. The wooden door slammed against the wall with a loud bang, and everyone looked up.

Zhou Xiong stood at the entrance.

Purple court robes, jade belt, hair perfectly arranged.

His gaze swept across the hall and landed in one direction.

Zhou Yi’s brush froze mid-air. He paused, then put it down and stood up.

“Father?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him, expressionless.

He walked forward, step by step. His boots struck the blue stone floor with steady sounds until he reached Zhou Yi’s desk.

In a calm voice, he said:

“This is the Ministry of Works. During office hours, you should address people by their official titles.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but the hall was silent—every word was crystal clear.

Zhou Yi froze.

He looked at his father’s face—completely impersonal, businesslike, devoid of emotion.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then swallowed it back.

He straightened his posture, shaking off the looseness from meeting his father, and adopted the demeanor of a subordinate facing his superior.

“Master Zhou, Assistant Director.”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Then he turned and walked to an empty desk nearby and sat down.

That was his seat. It had always been empty since he left, untouched.

A thin layer of dust had gathered on the desk. He didn’t care. He picked up a cloth, wiped it once, placed his official documents on the corner, and began reviewing the papers that clearly weren’t originally prepared for him.

The hall fell into complete silence.

Several officials stood frozen, exchanging confused looks.

Some had their mouths slightly open, some scratched their heads, others glanced at each other—everyone’s mind was in chaos.

What exactly was going on?

Wasn’t the Marquis supposed to report back after returning from leave?

No, but the Marquis had… well, mental instability in the past, so maybe normal rules didn’t apply?

But that didn’t fit either—he looked perfectly lucid now.

And even if he was fine, why was he giving his son a show of authority like this?

No one dared to ask.

At that moment, Yan Lide walked in.

He saw Zhou Xiong suddenly sitting at his desk, calmly reading documents. His expression didn’t change, but his back straightened instinctively—his posture different from usual.

The old Zhou Xiong used to sit however he pleased: leaning, slouching, sometimes even stretching his legs under the table like a blacksmith resting after work.

But this Zhou Xiong sat like a blade—upright, rigid, as if he were pinning himself into the chair.

Even Yan Lide couldn’t quite read the situation anymore.

Zhou Yi glanced at his father for a couple of breaths, then lowered his head and picked up his brush again, continuing the unfinished document.

The hall returned to silence.

The sound of turning papers, brush against paper, occasional low murmurs—then silence again.

Outside, cicadas kept screaming without end, but no one inside felt irritated.

Every so often, someone would secretly glance at the father and son—one sitting on the left, one on the right—each doing their own work, neither looking at the other.