Zhao Song’s face darkened as he scolded Zhao Hu, “Will you not get out of here!”

Zhao Hu let out a huff, “I only care about Elder Brother, it’s not like I’m using any of your people…”

Even Fu Tinghan, who was usually a man of few words and a mild temper, could not help but grow angry. “Seventh Great-Uncle,” he said, his expression turning stern and grave, “Heaven values life above all else. I have heard that Seventh Great-Uncle is a devoted follower of the Buddhist faith — all the more reason to have compassion for human lives. How much effort did our wise predecessors spend abolishing the barbaric practice of burying living people as burial companions? Why trouble the living in this way, and why trouble Grandfather Zhao, who spent his entire life loving his people like his own children?”

Upon hearing this, Zhao Hu was visibly displeased. He shot Fu Tinghan a sideways glance and said, “Young Master Fu, this is a matter of my Zhao Family. Strictly speaking, as an outsider and a man unrelated by blood, you ought not to be here at all. We are only making an exception because you are to be Third Young Miss’s future husband. But are you not overstepping your bounds here?”

He continued, “Elder Brother was born into wealth and privilege, and lived his entire life in fine clothing and lavish meals. If he does not bring a few people with him, how will he manage when he suffers in the underworld? The clan has long praised Young Master Fu for his filial piety, yet from what I have seen today, it amounts to very little. If you were truly filial, you — as the future son-in-law — should be the one to send servants along.”

Zhao Hanzhan’s expression darkened, and a surge of fury rose within her instantly. She looked at Zhao Hu with a cold smile. “Servants, after all, are only servants — how could they compare to the closeness of family? I see that Seventh Great-Uncle misses Grandfather so dearly — why don’t we go down together to see him?”

She reached out and seized Zhao Hu by the wrist, then turned and began dragging him toward the burial chamber. “Grandfather has not seen Seventh Great-Uncle in many years and must be longing for him terribly. As it happens, Fifth Great-Uncle has provided a chess set among the burial goods, so you and Grandfather can play chess, while I serve tea by the side. One family together in perfect harmony — would that not be wonderful?”

Zhao Hanzhan pulled Zhao Hu into the main burial chamber and began walking around the coffin. “This spot is quite good — I’ll yield it to Great-Uncle. Shall I be buried on the other side?”

Zhao Hu’s face turned ashen. He struggled with all his strength the entire way, but no one knew what this child had been raised on — she did not look particularly stout, yet her grip was extraordinarily strong.

Seeing the utterly serious expression on Zhao Hanzhan’s face, he could not tell whether she was joking. Infuriated, he sputtered, “You — you —” yet he dared not provoke her further. In desperation, he craned his neck back to cry for help. “Fifth Brother, Fifth Brother…!”

Zhao Song was also startled. He had never imagined that Third Young Miss, who was always so reasonable and gracious, would suddenly turn so fierce. Only when Zhao Hu called out did he finally snap to attention. He hurried over with his son Zhao Ming in tow to try to intervene, calling out, “Third Young Miss, stop making a scene with your Seventh Great-Uncle! Release him at once!”

But Zhao Hanzhan pressed Zhao Hu flat against the side of the coffin, one hand pinning down his shoulder so that he could not move. She met his gaze, her lips curled in something between a smile and not quite one, and said, “I can see Seventh Great-Uncle is serious. And so am I. My love for Grandfather runs so deep that I cannot bear to be separated from him. Seventh Great-Uncle’s suggestion suits my heart perfectly. It is only that this is my first time serving as a burial companion, so I have no experience — and so I must ask Seventh Great-Uncle to kindly lead the way for me.”

Zhao Hu was now convinced Zhao Hanzhan was completely serious. Her grip on his wrist was painfully tight, and he could not wrench himself free. He was on the verge of bursting into tears. He deeply regretted it — had he known this child would be so utterly reckless, he would never have brought this matter up in front of her. This was truly no good deed gone unpunished.

Zhao Song stepped forward and took hold of Zhao Hanzhan’s arm, giving it a light tug that pulled her away. His own face had already taken on a greenish hue by this point, his anger barely contained. “All of you, get out. What sort of scene is this to make in a burial chamber? Have you no fear of disturbing the departed spirit?”

He chased both of them out, then bowed to the coffin again and again before he could bring himself to leave with something close to composure.

Zhao Ming held onto Zhao Hu, while Fu Tinghan kept close to Zhao Hanzhan. The two of them stood between the pair, keeping them apart. Both Zhao Hanzhan and Zhao Hu shot each other cold sidelong glances — but in the end, it was Zhao Hu whose face remained somewhat pale as he looked away first. Clearly, Zhao Hanzhan had still managed to frighten him.

Cheng Bo, who had been kneeling on the ground throughout all of this, quietly let out a long breath. Awareness gradually returned to him, and it was only then that he felt the back of his robes were completely soaked through.

He stared blankly for a moment, struck by a sudden realization — it seemed he feared death after all. When his master had first passed, he had thought himself willing to follow him. And yet, how had it come to this…?

Cheng Bo remained in a daze as the funeral proceedings resumed. Zhao Cai followed along with the ritual bowing, and when he noticed his father showing no reaction, he quickly tugged at him.

Cheng Bo came back to himself and respectfully joined in the bowing, his heart wracked with anguish.

Ji Yuan watched all of this without the slightest change of expression. When the tomb door was finally lowered and the entire burial chamber sealed, the funeral was largely complete.

Zhao Erlang led everyone forward to perform the memorial rites. After the offerings were made and the gravestone set in place, the funeral was formally concluded.

By now Zhao Song’s complexion had returned to normal. He turned to Zhao Hanzhan and said, “Let’s head back to the clan first — I’ve had the old family home tidied up for you all.”

Zhao Hanzhan agreed and led everyone back to the Zhao Family fort.

The fort was not very far from the ancestral burial grounds — a little less than half an hour’s walk — and from a distance, she could already see a high surrounding wall, not much shorter than the city walls of Shangcai County. Most notably, the fort was equipped with watchtowers.

Outside the fort ran a surrounding moat — not particularly wide, but wide enough that no person could leap across it, nor any horse. More importantly, the moat was deep, roughly three to four meters down, its walls smooth and nearly impossible to climb.

A bridge spanned the moat, connecting the main road to the fort’s entrance gate.

Zhao Hanzhan stopped at the foot of the bridge and looked up, tracing the iron chains anchored to the bridge as they extended all the way up to the fort walls above. It was clear this was a drawbridge — lowered flat in peacetime to serve as an ordinary crossing, and in times of war, when raised, it would cut off the approach of any outside enemy.

A pity the moat was a bit narrow — any attacking force of any size with a lick of sense would simply throw their own bridge across.

Still, it was an impressive defensive measure nonetheless. And most practically of all, the moat could double as an irrigation channel in peacetime.

Zhao Hanzhan tapped one foot against the bridge planking and asked, “Fifth Great-Uncle, the moat and this drawbridge must have cost quite a sum, yes?”

Zhao Song, who had been about to boast a little while watching Zhao Hanzhan survey the fort, fell silent at this. He thought to himself — were they not both cut from the same cloth, grandfather and granddaughter? Their fixation on money was absolutely identical.

“It was a considerable expense,” Zhao Song replied. “But with this moat in place, ours is the most secure fort in all of Runan Commandery.”

Zhao Hanzhan nodded, stepped onto the drawbridge, and walked through the tall fort gates into the fort beyond.

A lively bustle washed over her.

Inside, the ground was paved with bluestone slabs. On either side rose two-story buildings — the lower floors were all storefronts, while the upper floors were divided between commercial spaces and private residences.

At the sight of Zhao Song and the others returning, the people inside the fort called out their greetings one after another, then went back about their own business.

In front of the storefronts, along the street itself, vendors had set up stalls selling all manner of goods.

Having already received word of Zhao Changyu’s death, every household had hung white hemp cloth or white mourning banners.

Those who lived within the fort — regardless of whether they bore the Zhao surname — were all counted as people of the Zhao clan. With the passing of the clan’s former patriarch, they were expected to observe mourning no less than one would for a national loss — in fact, even more so.

Continuing along the main street, the road was broad and level. Zhao Hanzhan and Fu Tinghan had only passed through Shangcai County without stopping, yet even at a glance, it was plain that the Zhao Family fort was no less impressive than Shangcai County itself.

Zhao Hanzhan was quiet and thoughtful for a moment. “Fifth Great-Uncle,” she asked, “are all forts in the realm like this?”

—