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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 148: Uncle Zhang's Funeral
The funeral procession moved forward, family members stepping on the remnants of firecrackers, the sound of their footsteps rustling softly. Those who did not follow along continued to handle Uncle Zhang's belongings, either burning them or burying them deep. In any case, after the funeral, the funeral home was mostly tidied up.
Apart from the paper scraps that couldn't be swept away from the ground, there was the best feast after a funeral. Friends and relatives gathered around, enjoying food and drink before going their separate ways. At a funeral, one cannot send off loved ones with the usual pleasantries and reminders to come visit.
As morticians, we took the red envelopes generously given by the honor guard and made ourselves scarce, the further away the better.
No more chit-chat; I was still carrying the coffin!
The money for the road scattered in a flurry by the roadside and fields. The Eight Great Warriors switched shoulders, while Filial Piety knelt down in reverence.
Uncle Zhang's son held a portrait in his hands, followed closely by his grandchildren. His daughter-in-law's eyes were filled with tears as she cared for her children. The mourners wore solemn expressions, while passersby pointed and whispered among themselves, reminiscing about Uncle Zhang's good nature and questioning how such a healthy person could suddenly be gone.
Of course, only I knew what really happened.
My grievances with Li Gui had deepened. Grandpa, Lao Luo, Uncle Zhang, and many innocent victims harmed by Li Gui and his evil arts—this debt would not be forgotten.
"Xia Luo Jing" refers to the act of burial. Many people do not understand; it should be recited: "Spirit of spirits, head cut off from soldiers; left facing South Dipper, right facing Seven Stars; those who oppose shall die, those who comply shall live; borrow light, borrow light; may you be well, I be well, everyone be well; Taishang Laojun's urgent command!"
As the coffin descended, I chanted: "Three wonders of sun, moon, and stars; let earth's ghosts and gods tremble. All gods bow their heads in reverence; evil spirits flee without stopping. Spirit of spirits, earth spirit; six generals heed my command. Golden boy and jade girl lead the troops; which god does not submit? Which ghost does not tremble? By my talisman's order, sweep away demons; when the time comes, carry out Jiu Xuan Nu's urgent command!"
This is what is called superstition—once you are caught up in it, you will believe.
In fact, there are many unspoken rules regarding burial. For instance, the timing of burial must depend on the host family's circumstances; wealthier families can afford to wait longer unless it is during Ghost Month or other special situations where burial times can be extended.
Moreover, everything I just recited must be done only if the host family is particularly generous. For Uncle Zhang, I had to give my all to ensure everything was done properly. What I sought was peace and smoothness for his descendants to receive blessings.
Once Uncle Zhang’s coffin was successfully lowered into the grave, I held a cinnabar brush while the Eight Great Warriors surrounded me on either side. Smoke lingered at the edge of the grave. My expression was serious as I waved my arm and chanted: "Clear! Point to earth’s spirit! Point for long life for everyone; point for our master to have spirit! Add a touch of red on top—may generations of descendants become top scholars! Call out! Rise up!"
Finally, as the Eight Great Warriors departed, I sat alone in front of Uncle Zhang’s tombstone. I took out prepared wine and arranged offerings neatly before it.
"Uncle Zhang, I've done all that can be done for you. Whether your descendants can prosper from this depends on future outcomes. Here’s to you, Uncle Zhang—I toast you with this cup." The spicy liquid slid down my throat as I wiped my mouth and forced a bitter smile. "Uncle Zhang, you've left us—who will you talk to now? Who will you consult?"
Unable to hold back, my nose tinged with a sourness, and tears blurred my vision. Suddenly, an aged voice echoed in my ears, “Qi, don’t forget there’s also Pang, Qin Jian can manage.”
“Uncle Zhang?”
“Pull yourself together; you have many things to do.”
“Okay, Uncle Zhang, I promise I will pull myself together.” I looked up at the sky, which was no longer as blue as before; it was gray and windy. The breeze rustled through the plants, creating a soft sound. It brushed against me, feeling refreshingly cool. I should head back.
My phone had been turned off and left idle in my bag. I took it out and powered it on. The first thing I saw was a call from Qin Jian and a message from Mi, but no news from Chi Xinrong.
I left Uncle Zhang’s grave. An old woman weeding by the field glanced at me furtively, seemingly afraid, before quickly lowering her head to continue her work.
“Hello!” The call connected, and Qin Jian’s voice came through.
“Qin Jian, you finally surfaced.”
“Ma Qi, you’re being unreasonable. What do you mean Ten-Mile Temple is a sacred place? It looks like a crumbling ruin where not even birds would defecate. Even if there were High Monks here, they wouldn’t come for anything. There are plenty of crows squawking around. If you don’t believe me, why not come see for yourself?”
I looked at the footage Qin Jian had sent back; indeed, the screen showed dilapidated walls. It seemed that Qin Ye and the High Monk were unwilling to meet with Qin Jian.
I sighed, “Come back!”
I still needed to go to Ten-Mile Temple; I had to make it there before July 15th to purify Yuyaya's spirit and find her remains to take them to the back mountain of Ten-Mile Temple.
It wasn’t appropriate to discuss too much over the phone. I asked Qin Jian to return and help me look into Qin Ye’s previous identity records. He had spent time in a mental hospital; there must be some clues worth investigating.
There was also Chiang’s funeral.
With so much going on, I temporarily pushed aside the events of that night. I noticed that while Mi was busy searching for Chi Xinrong, Chi Ruiqiang and his wife acted as if nothing had happened, overly enthusiastic about their son’s funeral.
The so-called low-key lifestyle of the wealthy still involved a show of grandeur.
We went to the funeral home to collect a high-quality imitation white jade urn wrapped in red silk cloth after the final farewell ceremony conducted by the funeral home. The imitation urn looked noble and elegant under the bright red fabric; unfortunately, it was soon to be buried in the ground, becoming a luxury hidden from sight.
Upon being told by Chi Ruiqiang that his son Chiang must be buried before July 15th to rest in peace, I couldn't help but wonder if he would use connections to swap out Chiang's body for a different one for burial.
It seems I was overthinking it. Chi Ruiqiang was serious; he did not swap the body but instead cremated it and buried the ashes properly. The coffin, made of some unknown type of wood, appeared quite sturdy, draped in black cloth. The urn was placed inside the coffin under my supervision.
With no body, there was only the urn, eliminating any possibility of corpse transformation. Once the urn was securely in place, everything was ready to set off.
The funeral procession formed with five vehicles, devoid of an honor guard or the sound of traditional horns. The only indication of our purpose was the fluttering Baymax flower at the front of the lead car. The vehicles slowly departed from the funeral home, heading towards a cemetery called Huang Lian Mountain.
Chi Ruiqiang had left the funeral home, and from that point on, I was fully responsible for everything that followed. The scattered money for the road fell to the ground and into the cars; there was no need to worry about causing trouble on this route. Even Baymax seemed to indicate that few people passed through here, and any vehicles that did sped by quickly, unwilling to linger even a moment longer.
Continuing to scatter joss paper along the way wasn't practical; it would only burden our hardworking cleaners. Therefore, once we were outside the funeral home’s vicinity, I halted the act of scattering joss paper. The cars moved forward slowly; although there were no grand displays or horn music, the Baymax flower at the front was eye-catching enough.
Chiang's burial site had been chosen at Huanglian Mountain Cemetery two weeks prior. The cars progressed smoothly, but my eyelids twitched repeatedly, and I couldn't shake a feeling of unease about what might happen next.
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