Under the long-distance headlights of the car, the old-style eaves and tiles were connected, and the freshly painted vermilion lacquer gleamed brightly in the moonlight.
The group from the restaurant moved into the mansion, led by the steward, heading to the kitchen work area.
...
The banquet hall of the Yang residence.
Hundreds of crystal lamps hung down from the ceiling, encircling the square hall like a small palace.
Swathes of orange light, filled with warmth, spilled down, making Yang Zhaoxing's old face glow rosily even before he took a sip of wine.
Yang Zhaoxing raised his wine cup, introducing the important figures of the Yang Family attending today to the young people beside him, one by one.
Given the large number, the young generation of the same age as Yang Yuelian was roughly skipped, but each of them raised their own cup, bowing their heads to the young man seated beside the Patriarch, with a hint of flattery in their eyes.
The scene at noon was too shocking.
