At the age of sixty, Fang Xuanling, wearing his official robes, stood in the courtyard with his hands behind his back. He looked up at the snow-covered roof and wore a face full of worry.,A scantily clad young boy sat on the roof, holding a flask of liquor in his hand and taking sips from time to time, sighing heavily.,He was of a sturdy build with thick eyebrows and large eyes. His youthful face, which still held a hint of immaturity, seemed to be no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. He wore a thin robe, his figure was not particularly imposing, but solid and broad-shouldered.。