On the day of the great funeral at the Zhou Residence, the entire household was draped in white.
Funeral banners hung high, and white paper lanterns were suspended everywhere.
The sky gradually darkened, and the last streak of sunset faded from the west.
Inside and outside the residence gates, waves of mourning rose and fell, never ceasing from morning until night.
The servants and attendants moving through the residence all wore mourning white. Their footsteps were light and cautious, and they dared not speak loudly, keeping their voices hushed and their breathing subdued.
In the mourning hall, candle flames flickered amid endlessly swirling incense smoke.
The offering table held the three sacrificial animals and several of Big Household Zhou's favorite snacks and pastries, even a few paintings of opera masks. Flames flickered here and there as yellow paper spirit money rustled into ash.
Master Tong bustled about managing everything, his eyes swollen red and his throat hoarse. Utterly exhausted, he still forced himself to direct the preparations in the mourning hall and receive the guests who came to pay their respects.
Jiang Tu knelt before the bier, grief written on his face. Deliberately playing the old man, he hunched his back and leaned on a cane, his expression vacant yet thoughtful, his heart solemn.
Before his death, Big Household Zhou had said he did not want to enter the Zhou Household's ancestral graveyard. He wanted to join the Jiang Household instead and protect Jiang Tu for all eternity. A dying man's words came from the heart, and they left Jiang Tu feeling both warmth and pain.
In a daze, he felt that Big Household Zhou had finally understood certain things.
But-when exactly had he realized that Jiang Tu was an agricultural cultivator pursuing longevity? And when had he realized that