The position of suona player went to Liu Yiqu.
The entire funeral home began bustling about.
Of course, the ones doing most of the work were still Bai Yu and the other miscellaneous hands.
The rest claimed to be working, but were really just making up the numbers while waiting to collect their reward money.
That afternoon, the mournful funeral music sounded all the way from the city gates to the funeral home.
There must have been several hundred people in the funeral procession.
Everyone wore sackcloth and mourning bands. Sixteen burly men carried an expensive nanmu coffin as they proceeded slowly.
At last, the coffin arrived outside the funeral home.
Manager Wu, who had not shown himself for a long time, and Daoist Lin Jiu went forward to welcome the funeral party into the funeral home.
The coffin was placed in the main hall.
The funeral home's band had long since been prepared.
Liu Yiqu smugly lifted his chin at Bai Yu and raised the suona to his lips.
Sure enough, Liu Yiqu was indeed highly skilled with the suona.
Each blast of the suona carried a mournful tone, firmly controlling the rhythm.
Wu the Unvirtuous nodded again and again, inwardly delighted.
If the suona was played well and satisfied Patriarch Zhang, the reward money would naturally be plentiful.
Even Daoist Lin Jiu could not help secretly praising Liu Yiqu's polished skill.
Bai Yu stood to one side and looked into the coffin.
The coffin lid had already been opened, allowing relatives and friends one final viewing.
The coffin nails would only be driven in when it was time to head into the mountains for burial.
That young master of the Zhang family truly was strikingly handsome, brimming with heroic spirit.
But on his pale face, his eyes were wide open, unwilling to close.
Sure enough, Zhu Tong had been right. Young Master Zhang had not closed his eyes even in death.
At this moment, Patriarch Zhang and the rest of his family entered the funeral home gates.
Patriarch Zhang was plump and richly built, dressed in black silk, tears streaming down his aged face.
His wife had cried herself hoarse.
Inside the funeral home, the band played with even greater effort.
Liu Yiqu in particular swayed his head as he played, wholly absorbed.
The lingering suona notes nearly blanketed the entire funeral home, their sound carrying for ten li.
Patriarch Zhang's family advanced slowly, their grief deepening, their wails growing louder.
Just then, the suona abruptly stopped.
Liu Yiqu broke into a violent coughing fit, then collapsed weakly.
Everyone froze. The hall fell silent.
Then the crowd erupted in uproar!
The funeral guests and stewards were all aghast.
"What is going on? The suona stopped!"
"Is this some kind of joke? What the hell is Hundred Virtues Funeral Home doing?"
"What is Manager Wu doing? He cannot even arrange a proper funeral band?"
On the funeral home's side, everyone was at a complete loss.
Manager Wu and Daoist Lin Jiu's expressions changed drastically.
At such a critical moment in the funeral rites, Liu Yiqu had actually gone wrong.
Wu the Unvirtuous's face turned deathly pale.
"It's over, it's over. Patriarch Zhang is going to lose his temper now."
He hurriedly looked toward Patriarch Zhang.
Sure enough, Patriarch Zhang's face was so dark it seemed water could drip from it.
Patriarch Zhang's wife burst into loud sobs:
"My son was already so miserable. He was practicing martial arts perfectly well, then suddenly died. Even after death, he cannot be left in peace."
"These damned bastards are even trying to ruin his funeral."
Patriarch Zhang's rage flared even hotter at those words. He turned to the steward behind him and said:
"They dared disrupt my son's funeral. Does Hundred Virtues Funeral Home no longer wish to stay in business?"
Daoist Lin Jiu came to his senses and hurried forward.
"Patriarch Zhang, please listen to our explanation. This was acci—"
Patriarch Zhang cut him off directly.
"At my son's funeral, you pull something like this? Explain it to the Prefect."
"The people of Hundred Virtues Funeral Home have neglected their duties. They cannot even manage a funeral properly. Every last one of them should be replaced."
The situation was clearly heading in the worst possible direction.
Just then, a lingering suona melody drowned out the crowd's clamor.
Bai Yu had stepped in to salvage the situation.
Each note of the suona tore at the heart.
Like a cuckoo crying blood, its sorrow pierced to the bone.
The desolate suona music forcibly suppressed the guests' anger and stirred the grief in their hearts.
The drummers, gong players, and the rest of the musicians felt as though they had been granted a pardon. They hurriedly followed the suona's rhythm and resumed the funeral dirge.
The sorrowful funeral music once more echoed throughout the hall.
Manager Wu patted his chest, nearly scared to death.
Fortunately, someone had saved the scene.
Daoist Lin Jiu gave Bai Yu an approving glance.
Among the funeral party, Patriarch Zhang's anger had not yet faded, but it was not suitable for him to lash out now.
He snorted coldly.
"Once my son's funeral is over, I will settle the score with you."
In the hall, Bai Yu's expression remained calm as he played the suona at an unhurried pace.
A panel appeared before his eyes.
Funeral target: Zhang Mingfei. Identity: Young master of the Zhang family. Age: 16. Cultivation: Third-Rank Martial Artist. Funeral participation: 5%. Reward: Vitality and blood +25, life experience +151. Selectable rewards: Swimming Dragon Palm, Flying Cloud Thirteen Swords, Soaring Step...
As expected of a disciple of an Aristocratic Clan. There was a whole string of martial arts manuals alone, and all of them looked extraordinary.
But the selectable rewards section was still grayed out.
Only when funeral participation reached 50% could he choose a reward.
Through the Burial World Record, Bai Yu could view Zhang Mingfei's life.
He had been born with a golden spoon in his mouth and showered with affection.
As a child, he studied literature. Quick-witted and intelligent, he entered the field with ease, and his teacher praised him as certain to pass the scholar's examination.
When he grew older, he became obsessed with martial arts. Fierce and diligent, he mastered every technique he learned.
In only a few short years, he rose all the way to become a Third-Rank Martial Artist.
His life could be called smooth sailing, practically the template of a protagonist.
Dressed in fresh finery, riding an angry horse, amid blazing fires and blooming flowers.
He had even intended to forcibly fuse several martial arts techniques together and break through to the fourth rank.
Yet the techniques conflicted with one another. In the end, he suffered qi deviation, his heart meridians snapped, and he died.
"I refuse to accept this. I refuse to accept this!"
"I, Zhang Mingfei, possess extraordinary talent. Why did I have to die like this?"
"I wanted to ride roughshod through the martial world and make my name ring like thunder! I wanted to become the overlord of the martial world! I wanted to conquer the beauties of the martial world!"
Through the Burial World Record, Bai Yu could sense Zhang Mingfei's intense unwillingness.
When one tune ended, Bai Yu changed the melody and switched to a funeral elegy.
"Whose land is this, where souls gather, with no distinction between wise and foolish?"
"How urgently the Lord of Ghosts presses them on; human lives cannot linger even a little."
"Do you not see? Heroes through the ages have all been worn away, becoming earth beneath Mount Beimang."
Bai Yu had conducted funerals in Peach Blossom Village for twenty years. He had seen the cold come and go, watched birth, aging, sickness, and death.
Thinking again of the history from his previous life, even flowers piled upon brocade and oil poured upon blazing flames would ultimately become a handful of yellow earth.
A thousand ages stretched on, yet amounted to no more than a single sigh.
He poured these experiences into the elegy.
The suona carried a lonely melancholy, along with the tranquility of one who had seen through the passing years.
Hearing it, everyone in the hall felt their hearts drift afar.
Many mundane matters that had long knotted their hearts seemed to be cast away in that instant.
What heroes and beauties, what rivers and mountains like paintings—none could compare to brewing a pot of clear tea beneath a peach tree.
Even many of the funeral guests felt the grief in their hearts lessen considerably.
When the tune ended, the person in the coffin finally released the pent-up breath in his chest and slowly closed his eyes.
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