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.,Fang Junqiang endured his worry and grief, picking up a wonton and putting it in his mouth, but he couldn't taste it.,Mr. Lu advised his son earnestly, but no matter how you looked at him, he resembled a proud rooster, looking vigorous and lively.。