The sedan chairs ahead came to a stop.
Elder Zhao lifted a hand; the people from the main branch halted.
The Second Madam stepped out first.
She held two golden war hammers in her hands, crossed them behind her head like a makeshift bolster.
Given her current appearance, the pose created a bizarre contrast — like a female version of Cheng Yaojin.
Next came Second Lord Zhao.
He slipped a hand onto his wife’s shoulder, but he didn’t pull her back to let himself stand forward; instead, he pushed her two steps further forward so she would better shield him.
When the big-built son, Zhao Yong, stepped down with a shovel in hand, Second Lord Zhao even turned aside to make way, letting his son take the foremost position.
Tan Wenbin had thought about stalling by playing it theatrical, using words and performance to buy time.
But the risk was too great.
The main branch clearly didn’t like to play along — otherwise they wouldn’t have switched places and then pretended to be ill and shirk duties.
He couldn’t let himself get carried away yakking while the four from the main branch charged forward and exposed them.
Still, with “wife and son” standing ahead, Tan Wenbin had the confidence to liven the mood a bit.
He shouted over: