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.,There was a flurry of footsteps in the house. Madam Lu rushed out, flustered and agitated, asking urgently, "Where is he Where is he"。