Ruyi was taken away by Chen Dasheng early one morning, just as silently as when he’d arrived.

Such a small child appearing in her life—Qiqian’er couldn’t simply turn a blind eye and let him slip away, yet she couldn’t take on more responsibility for him either. She only instructed the staff below that, from now on, whenever the seasons changed or holidays came around, they should prepare a set of clothing for that child—nothing fancy needed, just practical and durable would do.

At least this way, there’d be some thread of connection. If life ever grew turbulent for him again, at least the child would have warm clothes to protect against the cold.

In the blink of an eye, the snow stopped, and the day of early winter arrived—the day long since chosen according to the almanac had finally come.

Matters concerning the dead—sacrifices, breaking ground, funeral rites, encoffining, burial—though these were affairs of the dead, not the slightest detail could be gotten wrong.

Today, the Chen family was holding a grand affair concerning matters after death—handling it while still alive.

The Chen family’s elder matriarch rose extremely early today, wearing her finest jewelry, and dressed in her formal robes of rank bestowed by imperial decree.

As the most senior elder of the Chen family, today she would step forward to handle this great affair on behalf of her descendants—she would invite the most renowned grave-master in Qingfeng Prefecture to the Chen family cemetery to allocate plots of land for each branch of the family.

By rights, this matter should have been handled by the Chen family long ago, but Chen Sinniu, being pushed aside by his younger generation’s mother, had shamelessly played hard-to-get for nearly two years now, as the sole surviving male of the second generation.

If he didn’t take the lead, then no one else could proceed—that was how clan law worked. Sometimes when a person turns bad, short of beating him to death, there’s simply nothing you can do about him.

Fine! If you say we won’t handle it, we’ll just hold off then—the whole family genuinely wasn’t in any rush about this matter. But the elder matriarch was getting on in years, and should anything happen to her, Chen Sinniu would certainly be branded as grossly unfilial.

This dragged on until someone in the Ministry of Works this year gave Chen Sinniu a pointed warning, saying that several officials at the Censorate had their eyes on him. Only then did he finally grow afraid, and this time, without anyone needing to press him, he busied himself running around as if the whole household couldn’t survive without him.

And so, the Chen family finally moved forward with the long-delayed matter of engaging a grave-master, settling it now.

As for what a grave-master was, also called a Grand Steward of Tombs, he oversaw the public burial grounds of the realm. He also managed all the rules and regulations concerning burial sites and funeral rites—an important position within the Earth Official category described in ancient ritual texts, holding a formal sixth-rank salary from the Ministry of Rites.

Present-day customs weren’t as rigorously bound by ancient rules, so various local practitioners of yin-yang divination, Daoist priests, and even Buddhist devotees could all specify their preferred method of burial while still living.

But most of the gentry and nobility who’d been granted burial land still preferred to spend considerable sums to hire a formal grave-master to survey their family’s land, and plan out the burial chamber, the cemetery layout, and the design of the coffin and outer casing.

The rise of a family clan was never something superficial, just eating and drinking on the surface. As the Chen family’s descendants climbed steadily higher in status, if the family didn’t plan out a burial ground usable for twenty generations, they truly couldn’t hold their heads up in society.

What did a family recognized by society as an established clan actually look like? First, one looked at the height of the household’s standing; second, the depth of the family estate’s inheritance; and finally, one looked at the blessed burial ground itself. This was exactly what the Tan family had once fought so hard over.

It wasn’t enough to simply declare yourself an established clan and have it be so. Take the deceased Zhang Guanneng, for instance—though he’d placed third in the imperial examinations and served as a high official at court, even in death he couldn’t simply be buried anywhere he pleased. Mainly because he had no plot in the capital—his ancestors and family weren’t from there.

You might say, why not just dig a random hole by the roadside and bury him there? But then you’d better hope no one finds out, because which piece of land in this world doesn’t have an owner? Even if it doesn’t now, it eventually will, and when that day comes, the remains would be dug up and discarded carelessly—how disgraceful would that be.

This is why poems and writings often speak of the lonely, unmarked grave as one of the coldest forms of desolation in the human heart—a burial site with no one to protect it, where anyone can dig you up and desecrate your remains.

You might say, fine, I won’t erect a grave mound then, just bury me casually. But not even three years later, when your descendants want to pay their respects in the afterlife, where in this vast world would they even search for you?

And so, in times of peace, for those unfortunate souls who die away from their hometowns, there’s only one place for them—the corpse is first sent to a charitable mortuary for temporary keeping. If, after several years, the body remains unclaimed, then charitable donors step forward, and the mortuary takes charge, building a communal grave where the bones are collected, cremated, and buried together in urns.

But if there are filial children, they will always carry the body home for burial. As long as one remains within the clan register, as long as one hasn’t been expunged from the clan, even an unpardoned condemned criminal still has a designated place back home—and this place, quite possibly, was planned out generations earlier by ancestors more than a dozen generations back.

This was simply how it worked for prominent, wealthy households.

The Chen family, having only recently risen to prominence, had received great imperial favor—first receiving reward money for their achievements, and then the Emperor himself had reviewed the burial maps of the capital and personally designated an auspicious burial site for them.

As for the Chen family’s coffins, they hadn’t actually been buried underground yet—they’d only been placed in shallow pits dug at ground level, hastily interred for the time being.

The reason for this at the time was that when the new dynasty had just begun, the grave-masters were far too busy to sit down and properly plan burial sites individually for each of the Chen family’s four branches, so they couldn’t dig deep and properly inter the bodies underground yet.

A family with officials ranking sixth or seventh grade, and you’d just dig a random hole to bury the family patriarch? That simply wouldn’t do.

Unlike the branch of the Chen family under Jiangzhu, who had hired a yin-yang diviner to survey the land and set aside a portion of farmland for burial purposes—that kind of burial ground wasn’t officially recognized; on the land deed, it remained registered as farmland, still subject to taxation, and converting it to official clan burial land would require considerable effort.

But the Chen family’s cemetery in Qingfeng represented the true rising fortunes of an established clan’s burial ground—it wasn’t merely the Emperor pointing casually at some spot on a whim and saying, “Let this place be the Chen family’s cemetery.”

That simply wasn’t how it worked. Whether it was the burial ground where Tan Er was interred, or the Chen family’s cemetery near Qingque Nunnery, these locations had all previously appeared on a single map—a map surveyed and drawn by the Ministry of Rites’ Tomb Officers, known as the “Tomb Map,” which constituted the nation’s official public burial grounds.

Tomb Officers held a rank one grade below that of grave-masters, and were also called tomb-men.

They could determine whether a proposed burial site met the necessary requirements—beyond just the surrounding terrain and whether the geomantic veins aligned properly to form an auspicious site, they even needed to survey the depth underground, whether it was dry, and whether it was suitable for burial.

Of course, what’s being described here refers to premium, highly auspicious burial sites—only prominent households, when someone died, would have grave-masters, tomb officers, and funeral directors assisting the family in this manner.

Sites suitable for burial were ultimately compiled onto a single master map. If an official had rendered meritorious service, the reigning Emperor would select a plot of land to bestow upon the minister as reward—especially within at least three hundred li surrounding the capital, where not a single inch of land could be misallocated.

This is precisely why, in later folk tradition, there arose the “three great battles”—first, disputes over water veins; second, disputes over land for the living; and third, disputes over burial grounds. Once such conflicts erupted, they either never happened at all, or, once started, became blood feuds passed down through generations. Taking a life was a minor matter in comparison—the truly terrifying part was that once the fighting began, it would continue on, generation after generation.

How could it possibly be as simple as randomly buying a plot of land and saying, “I’ll just be buried here after I die”? Life holds two great matters—being born, and dying.

Even if you wanted to be buried casually somewhere, would your own clan relatives allow it? Would the local villagers agree to it? Even in the most humble, impoverished village, selecting a shared burial ground was a matter concerning the entire village and clan. Outsiders might dare take advantage regarding farmland, but they would never dare take advantage where burial grounds were concerned.

No one is a fool—emperors long ago perfected the art of bestowing favor to its fullest extent. Beyond granting wealth and status to the living, they even extended their reach to govern matters underground.

Today, all the male members of the Chen family were present, even the two elders from the Jiangzhu branch, along with Chen Daliang, Chen Erliang, and the likes of Quancang and Quanyou—all the male members had turned out in full. Though the two branches of the family had separated in clan registry, on such an occasion neither dared stay away, and the more attendees, the better—it signified a thriving, prosperous family.

Qiqian’er also rose early. First thing in the morning, she went personally to the livestock shed and, together with Chen Dasheng, thoroughly washed the large black ox that had been delivered the day before, from head to hoof. This was to be offered as sacrifice to the grave-master—for however much land under heaven you claimed, you had to offer back to the deities an equivalent measure of ox-plowed wasteland.

Besides this, each household also had to contribute twelve sheep, twelve chickens, twelve ducks, and five hundred catties each of the five grains.

All these items had to be delivered to the grave-master’s home, inviting the elder to come to the Chen family cemetery to slaughter the sheep and poultry as sacrifice, and then, according to custom, first mark out the grandfather’s burial plot, followed sequentially by the four branches—burial sites for twenty generations needed to be planned out in full.

Once everything was arranged and the grave-master had taken his share, the rest had to be distributed among the villages surrounding the cemetery—however many households there were, that many portions had to be given out, and by headcount, everyone was to partake of a bite of the Chen family’s meat and a mouthful of their grain.

Establishing a burial ground was no small matter—it required properly greeting the local residents: our family now has a burial ground here; good neighbors, should anything come up, please let the living family know, don’t disturb our ancestral graves; and should any weather disaster befall our graves, we ask that, in consideration of this good relationship, you lend a hand if you’re able, or at least send word if you cannot.

Never underestimate the value of this gift of goodwill and favor. If a small bird happens to plant a seed atop your family’s grave, and an unwanted tree grows there, with roots reaching down into the ancestral burial chamber, that would spell great misfortune—a most inauspicious omen.

And so, from ancient times, one simply could not afford to offend the local villagers.

In the blink of an eye, daylight had fully broken. Chen Dasheng carried An’er out the door, arriving at the entrance of Qinwei Lane.

By this time, every household’s cattle and sheep had already been washed and led out. The moment he stepped outside, he heard his fourth uncle loudly boasting about his own large plow ox, holding up five fingers and declaring, “What are these you’ve all brought out? You dare lead cattle like these out for the ancestors to look upon? Look at Uncle’s ox here, this measure! King of oxen!”

Chen Dasheng grimaced, leading his ox along, trying discreetly to slip toward the back of the family procession. But Chen Sinniu was a fool, and upon spotting Chen Dasheng, said again, “Well if it isn’t Choutou—you’re not even part of our family anymore…”

The bad man had turned into a shameless scoundrel, though there wasn’t much anyone could do about it—he just liked to needle people from time to time.

Before Chen Sinniu could even finish speaking, the elder matriarch yanked off her own shoe and flung it right at him in front of everyone, sparing him not a shred of face.

Well, that shut him up—he didn’t dare make another sound after that.

Chen Dasheng sauntered along, leading his ox, and took his place in line behind Lanting Ge’er. Honestly speaking, being a member of the Chen family didn’t sit entirely comfortably with him—there was still some awkwardness in his heart about it.

Seeing her third-generation grandson An’er, the elder matriarch grew sorrowful—ah, this was the She family’s grandson now.

Seeing the elder matriarch’s sorrow, Qiqian’er hurried over and took An’er from Chen Dasheng’s arms, having someone carry him to the back courtyard.

She Qingling, knowing the Chen family had settled on a grave-master for today’s affairs, worried that others might try to arrange for his grandson to be involved in Chen family matters, so, driven by his own private concerns, he’d arrived early as well, hiding in the back courtyard as if to declare: I’m right here, just try letting my grandson go anywhere near your Chen family graves!

Once An’er was carried inside, She Qingling finally allowed himself a smile, grunting awkwardly, then hoisted his eldest grandson onto his shoulders and took him to the back courtyard to play with the birds.

All in all, everyone in this family, without exception, was difficult to deal with in their own way.

At the entrance of Qinwei Lane, the Chen family’s male members were tying red cloth strips onto the sacrificial animals—even the infants still in their fathers’ arms had to help, with their fathers’ assistance, tie a small strip of red cloth atop the heads of the cattle and sheep. To avoid startling the cattle meant for sacrifice, their eyes were covered.

Meanwhile, Qiqian’er, Madam Li, and the other household matriarchs stood quietly nearby, watching with solemn, respectful expressions, until the appointed hour arrived. Once the firecrackers sounded up front, Chen Sinniu took the lead, guiding the first ox slowly out toward the road beyond Quanhou Street.

This fellow rarely got to play the important role, and walked the whole way with his nose held high in the air.

There was no helping it—as long as he lived, no matter how much everyone looked down on him, he was still the fourth branch of the Chen family, the sole surviving elder of the second generation, and it fell to him to lead the first ox.

Behind him followed Chen Dazhong, Chen Dayi, and Chen Dayong. As for Chen Dasheng, he still walked behind Lanting Ge’er, following along with some sense of grievance.

Still, this was already good enough—at least they let him tag along. In the future, should he ever dare to inherit the position of the young prince’s estate, upon death he wouldn’t be buried in the Chen family cemetery at all, but in the She family’s burial ground instead.

Passing by Qiqian’er, this fellow pursed his lips, putting on quite the pitiful expression.

Qiqian’er wanted to laugh, but held it back.

The heads of the three branches each had to lead an ox and walk on foot to the City God Temple beside the Qingfeng prefectural office, respectfully inviting the grave-master out, after which everyone would follow his instructions.

A grave-master was considered a divine official and didn’t attend the regular government offices.

Once the men’s procession had departed, the elder matriarch took the lead, and the household matriarchs of each branch, each carrying their own thoughts, boarded the carriages. This group was heading to Xiaojing Village near the Chen family cemetery.

Xiaojing Village was less than two li from the Chen family cemetery. Because the Chen family cemetery sat higher than the village’s own ancestral shrine, being located halfway up the mountainside, the Chen family was obligated to build the village a pagoda, or donate a village school, or fund the renovation of their ancestral shrine—any of these would do.

The Chen family, being righteous and generous, had built Xiaojing Village both an ancestral shrine and a village school.

Otherwise, with such a massive cemetery looming over Xiaojing Village, on the surface there might be nothing to fear, but if the villagers quietly decided to cause trouble behind the scenes, that would be a different story entirely.

Not that the Chen family feared Xiaojing Village particularly—two-thirds of the village’s population were refugees from other regions, which actually made things easier to negotiate. Otherwise, no matter how wealthy your family was, if an entire village united against you, they could certainly make life difficult for your household. Not to mention other things—if someone urinated on your ancestral tombstone and you never found out, fine, but if you did find out, imagine how suffocating that resentment would feel.

If you happened to encounter a neighboring village sharing your own surname, now that would truly be fortunate.

The village’s elderly with no family, orphans, sacrificial fields, public wells, the village-entrance bridge, the ancestral shrine’s roof tiles, poor scholars traveling to the capital for exams—every single one of these matters required support from the wealthy family. Local gentry were formidable figures indeed—otherwise, why would wealthy families deliberately establish separate manor estates once they’d grown prosperous? Precisely to guard against exactly this kind of entanglement.

With the Chen family cemetery located here, their registered ancestral home would from now on be here as well—from this point forward, their roots would be considered planted in Xiaojing Village, no longer in Quanhou Street.

The elder matriarch and the others didn’t really understand these matters, but ever since this burial plot had been secured, Qiqian’er had already begun quietly making arrangements early on. By now, most of the farmland surrounding the area had been secretly purchased by Qiqian’er, and half the households in Xiaojing Village now depended on tenant farming Chen family land for their livelihood.

What exactly did the household matriarchs manage? Precisely matters like these concerning the clan—the inner workings, the trivial details. Don’t underestimate it just because we were “bought for ten strings of cash”—a good clan wife plans ahead early and arranges things thoughtfully. Otherwise, no matter how fond She Qingling was of this daughter-in-law, someone like Chai-shi from the Chang family wouldn’t have this kind of foresight, wouldn’t even think to consider such things.

But Qiqian’er happened to come from a manor steward’s family background—in her previous life, she’d suffered no small losses over that very burial plot for Chen Dasheng, and had witnessed plenty of others suffer losses over such matters too.

The mule cart moved slowly along. Once they exited the street, Qiqian’er lifted the carriage curtain and saw, in the distance at the entrance to Quanqian Street, Qiao-shi kneeling by the roadside, burning offerings.

She was someone whose name had never been entered into the family register—even as a wife, she had no proper place within it.

This woman had grown increasingly quiet. Every day, before dawn, she would come to kneel and kowtow before the elder matriarch’s door to pay her respects, disturbing no one. Once she’d paid her respects, she would leave, returning home to weave cloth all day, selling what she made and always setting aside a portion as tribute for the elder matriarch.

Relying solely on this quiet diligence, she had gradually built up a certain reputation.

Yet the elder matriarch still wouldn’t let her through the door. Even for such a major event as this, no one had bothered to inform her either. She didn’t cry or make a scene—she simply knelt there quietly, burning her offerings.

Qiqian’er lowered the carriage curtain, watching A’Nai turning her prayer beads, murmuring quietly. Once finished, the old lady looked up and asked Qiqian’er, “Qian’er, can that person be trusted?”

Qiqian’er knew exactly what A’Nai was asking about, and smiled, nodding. “I’ve already looked into it thoroughly, A’Nai, rest assured. His character and temperament are both good—I’ve also had the clan elder from the Qin family in that village keeping an eye on him for over a year now. He won’t harbor any disloyalty toward our family.”

The elder matriarch turned to glance at the ten red-wrapped bundles stacked beside her, along with two wooden trays, each neatly arranged with ten silver ingots weighing ten taels each.

At this moment, the elder matriarch, who had been frugal her whole life, showed unusual generosity. She touched the silver ingots and asked, “Is this departure money for the mother too little?”

Qiqian’er shook her head. “It’s not too little, A’Nai. There’ll be plenty of time ahead—affection doesn’t need to be shown all at once. When we have money to spare for my mute uncle, why not be generous? These two trays of money are meant for outsiders anyway.”

The elder matriarch considered this, and finally smiled. “Right! That’s true.”

What exactly were grandmother and granddaughter-in-law discussing? It concerned the matter of the Chen family cemetery’s grave-keeper.

No one quite knew where the custom of grave-keeping originated—for imperial families, grave-keeping was an official duty, while among commoners, grave-keeping largely relied on clan relatives back in the ancestral hometown.

A clan cemetery required someone to fill in the soil, pull weeds, perform seasonal sacrifices—regardless of whether family members living elsewhere returned home or not, someone needed to tend to the graves.

The Chen family had lost too many members and had no clan relatives left to keep watch over the graves. What could be done? They needed to find a nominal relation—seek out someone with a physical disability to adopt as a nominal son or grandson, who would from then on serve as the ancestral grave-keeper.

Calling it “adopting kin” was, in truth, simply purchasing a person to raise as one’s own.

The Chen family would need to build the grave-keeper a house near the cemetery, arrange his marriage, and even treat the education of the grave-keeper’s next generation as if they were true clan members. When the grave-keeper eventually passed away, he too would be buried in the Chen family cemetery, ensuring his descendants would continue keeping watch over the Chen family graves for generations to come.

Don’t underestimate this position—the Chen family certainly wouldn’t settle for just anyone in this role.

Earlier that year, Qiqian’er had already sent someone to search in Xiaojing Village, looking over several candidates, and finally selected a mute man from the Zhao family, an original resident of the village, to adopt as a clan uncle.

Quanhou Street wasn’t far from Qingque Nunnery, and in less than an hour, the matriarchs’ carriages swayed their way into Xiaojing Village. Upon entering, they could hear firecrackers thundering from the nearby mountainside, and at the entrance to Xiaojing Village, strings of small firecrackers had been hung as well—upon seeing their arrival, the villagers set them off with a crackling burst.

This wasn’t a large village, with only two or three hundred residents, and unlike most villages limited to at most three or four surnames, this one housed a mix of different surnames living together—which spoke to just how much favor the Emperor had shown the Chen family.

With so many locations surrounding the capital available, if the newly-risen, lower-ranking noble Chen family had been carelessly granted a burial ground surrounded by seven or eight large established manor estates, hmph, that truly would have spelled generations of trouble ahead.

Not to mention anything else—seven or eight manor estates producing twenty scholars alone, just covering travel expenses for their examinations would amount to a substantial sum. And then there were snow disasters and floods—whenever such calamities struck, your family would be expected to provide some relief. Though not demanded outright, offering some assistance was simply the expected thing to do—that was just how the world worked. However, the sheer number of such obligations could overwhelm a family.

When the Chen family’s carriage came to a stop, about a dozen neatly-dressed women came forward to greet them.

The slightly plump woman in the lead, seeing the elder matriarch step down, came forward smiling and offered a formal bow, saying, “Oh my, you’ve finally come back! We’ve been looking forward to your arrival since early this morning. Wonderful, this truly feels like coming home, Elder Matriarch.”

What “coming home”—what a smooth talker.

Jixiang’s wife came over smiling and, supporting the elder matriarch, whispered in her ear, “This is the village head’s wife, Madam Jin. Her husband’s family surname is Qin—the mute elder married her niece.”

Hearing this, the elder matriarch’s face immediately broke into a smile. Though dressed in her formal robes of rank, she showed no reluctance at all in taking Qin-Jin-shi’s hand and saying, “So this is the Qin-Jin household? They told me long ago you were a capable one—now that I’ve met you today, well, indeed, you certainly are.”

Having said this, the elder matriarch had trays brought forward, distributing five strings of cash each to the dozen or so women who’d come to greet them—signifying that, regardless of the village’s total population, every household’s presiding matriarch was represented here, meaning this small village had fewer than twenty prominent households in total.

This was greeting money—five strings per household. Later on, each household would also receive a share of mutton, chicken, duck, and grain.

This was the Chen family’s way of doing things.

Qin-Jin-shi beamed with pride and honor. She and her husband had been assisting the Chen family for over a year now, and had finally managed to dress themselves in fine silk.

Overjoyed at heart, this woman performed a proper formal bow to the elder matriarch, saying with a smile, “I kowtow to you, Elder Matriarch. To speak plainly, from now on our two families are proper relatives—my, my niece will have to call you her adoptive mother.”

The elder matriarch didn’t respond to this directly, simply smiling. Once she’d finished her kowtow, Qiqian’er stepped forward and personally helped her up—this was a mark of proper respect and dignity.

A group of children, along with the village women from various households, watched from a distance, not daring to approach.

The village’s male residents, meanwhile, had all gone up the mountain to lend their support to the Chen family’s proceedings.

Led by Qin-Jin-shi, the Chen family’s household matriarchs together made their way toward a small earthen house in the village.

In truth, from top to bottom, only the village head’s household had a house with a proper tiled roof in Xiaojing Village—life was hard for the common folk here. Still, the village had begun to flourish recently; small as it was, this little village now had powerful backing.

Since the Chen family was establishing their ancestral cemetery here, they needed to form kinship ties with the locals, seeking out someone from the village with many local relatives to serve as grave-keeper.

They hadn’t walked far when they came upon a forlorn, dilapidated old courtyard on the verge of collapse. The gate was naturally made of firewood branches, the walls naturally made of packed earth. Four or five small children were perched or seated atop the earthen wall, peering out. Seeing the large procession approaching, they shouted at the top of their lungs toward the inside, “Grandma, Grandma~ someone’s here to take the mute uncle away!”

No sooner had these words left their mouths than a broom-knot came flying out, followed by a string of wailing cries.

The Chen family matriarchs all stood together outside the firewood gate. Qin-Jin-shi knocked on the gate and called out, “Qiusheng’s mother, the elder matriarch has come to fetch your son. Hurry and send him out. No matter how reluctant you are to part with him, you can’t stand in the way of a mother and son’s reunion.”

The money had already been accepted, so why act coy about it now?

Sobbing could be heard from behind the firewood gate—and it wasn’t just one woman crying either.

Qin-Jin-shi knocked on the gate again and called out, “Oh come now, don’t cry anymore. He’ll be living just up the hillside—do you think it’s that far? Whenever you miss him, you can go visit anytime! Hurry up and send him out!”

The crying grew even louder.

Seeing how things stood, Qiqian’er nodded to those behind her.

And so, Siyue came forward carrying a tray of silver, while young servants carried over several sacks of grain, setting them down at the household’s gate.

The firewood gate was full of gaps and cracks. As the silver was brought over, a voice could be heard shouting from inside, “They’ve given the money~ that’s enough~ mmph!”

Clearly, someone’s mouth had just been covered.

A moment later, a third round of crying erupted from within, and only then did the firewood gate slowly creak open. Out stepped a man with his head lowered, long-limbed, dark-skinned, with an honest, simple bearing about him.

This was Qiusheng. He was twenty-nine years old this year, the third child in his family. His muteness had resulted from a childhood fever-induced illness. Even the good-natured men in his family had trouble finding wives, let alone him.

The elder matriarch beamed at Qiusheng, showing not the slightest hint of disdain. In her view, as far as grave-keepers went, the more honest and simple, the better.

In the future, whenever she wanted to indulge in some small luxury from the afterlife, she’d be relying on this boy’s filial offerings.

As the mute man emerged, the crying inside the courtyard grew even more intense. Qin-Jin-shi pursed her lips, and upon noticing the mute man dressed in old, worn clothes, with a pair of tattered straw sandals on his feet, grew furious.

She planted her hands on her hips right at the gate and began scolding, “Let me tell you something, people shouldn’t lose all sense of shame! Pah! Inside and out, you’ve squeezed over thirty strings of cash out of this, and the grain that’s passed through my hands alone could feed your whole family for two years. And yet, you couldn’t even spare a decent pair of shoes for the mute elder? How can your hearts be so black…”

Before Qin-Jin-shi could finish, Qiqian’er, about to have the servant hurry the mute uncle away—the harsher the scolding continued, the better, as far as she was concerned—

But just as the servant approached, someone from over by the hillside suddenly shouted, “Run, quick, the ox has bolted…”

A bolting ox was no small matter. Everyone scrambled to find cover, and before long, they indeed saw a sturdy black ox come charging down from the mountainside.

Chen Sinniu, gripping half a length of rope in his hand, went tearing past, shouting as he ran, “Someone, hurry, stop it, stop it and there’s a reward from your lord…”

Once he’d run past, a string of Chen family male members went chasing after him too.

Chen Dasheng ran as well, though without much enthusiasm. Passing by the large millstone in front of the mute man’s house, he spotted his own wife standing behind the stone, wearing a distinctly mischievous grin. He trotted over and whispered in her ear, “So wicked, so wicked!”

Qiqian’er rolled her eyes, putting on an expression of complete innocence, as if none of this had anything to do with her.

That day, Fourth Master Chen’s ox never once set foot in the cemetery. After the grave-master had surveyed the grounds, he ended up selecting Chen Dasheng’s ox instead.