Ruan Xingzhu returned to her room and changed into a snow-white mourning dress. The sight was instantly arresting. Her skin was already fair, and the white gauze made her seem all the more delicate, pitiful, and tender.
Many members of the family sighed inwardly. The mistress was so beautiful, yet the master had passed away so young. Her fate was truly too cruel.
Of course, there were also those with improper thoughts: The master had died, leaving behind such a young and stunning wife. Who knew which man would benefit from her in the future?
Though everyone had different thoughts, they all wore mournful expressions on the surface. Ruan Xingzhu knelt before the mourning hall, burning paper offerings for her husband as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Those around her felt moved by the sight, and no one dared approach to disturb her.
Looking at the coffin not far away, Ruan Xingzhu silently swore, Zhenzhong, I will uncover the truth. I will not let you die in vain!
It had already been close to dusk when they entered Chengdu today. After returning to the Yang residence and spending some more time there, night had fallen before they knew it, and the people around them gradually began to leave.
After all, this was neither the first day since Yang Zhenzhong's death nor the seventh-day memorial. The members of the Yang family's other branches had stayed for a while before returning to their own affairs. Even Yang Zhenzhong's concubines had matters of their own to handle, taking turns eating, washing up, and so on.
With Yang Juyuan secretly pulling strings in the background, the people in the mourning hall soon left one by one. In the end, only Ruan Xingzhu and several maids remained.
By midnight, the maids had begun