A Shrine to Receive Incense Offerings

The people of East Mountain already felt guilty toward Fang Xun. The moment this essay appeared, it struck a chord with them all.

People rushed to copy it and use it to mourn Fang Xun from afar.

As for the passages that played down certain matters while concealing a sharp edge in the style of the Spring-Autumn Brush, who would deliberately pick fault with them now?

For one thing, Yin Fengshuo had lost the tide of support. He had indeed taken responsibility for disaster relief at the first opportunity. But in the face of the surging public sentiment, no one dared risk universal condemnation by defending him.

For another, the dead deserved respect. Fang Xun's heroic sacrifice to save the world could not be denied.

There was no need to say which side to take.

Over two days, the memorial essay spread and gathered force.

By the third day, officials of every rank who had survived in Former Tomb Commandery arrived in an endless stream to pay their respects, each harboring thoughts of his own.

From the fourth day onward, members of the Confucian School who had heard the news came from every direction, travel-worn from the road.

Because of Fang Xun's death and Li Shun's essay, the situation in East Mountain quietly changed.

As Fang Xun's sole disciple, Li Shun wore mourning clothes throughout those days. Grief weighed on his face, yet he received every group of mourners who had traveled from afar with steady composure.

Though the guests were many, he kept the entire government office busy but never chaotic, with everything in good order.

Fang Han saw it all, and admiration gradually grew in his heart.

April twenty-ninth was the day of Fang Xun's burial.

There were no remains. Only a cenotaph was raised for his clothes