The next morning, the sky was a hazy gray-white.
Last night's wind had died down, and the snow in the alley had been trampled firm.
Lu Xingmin lifted the curtain and came in early, cold from head to toe, though his face held a settled calm.
"Xiao Wu, I've found the burial site."
Lu Xingmin rubbed his hands together and said quietly, "It's deep in Origin Mountain, among the Seven Mountains of Tianjin. I didn't trust anyone else, so I went there myself last night to look it over. It's sheltered from the wind and faces the sun, with deep, solid earth—a fine grave site where wind is stored and qi gathers. There's one stretch by water, then you can go straight into the mountains. The route's passable enough."
Qin Geng knelt before the mourning altar and added a stack of paper money to the brazier. He nodded slightly. "Sorry for the trouble, Shopkeeper Lu. I can rest easy when you're handling it."
"Just doing my part."
Lu Xingmin turned to make arrangements outside.
As the sun climbed, normally unremarkable Tanlong Alley began to bustle, though it was a subdued, solemn bustle.
The neighbors arrived first.
Most were ordinary folk: vegetable sellers, cobblers, and aunties who earned a little money sewing.
They had little money to spare. Their offerings were a few copper coins, a basket of eggs, or several feet of white cloth.
But their tears were real.
"Master Zhu Xin, how could you leave us—"
Auntie Wang from next door wiped her tears and set a basket of warm steamed buns on the offering table. "When my old man was at death's door, you paid for his medicine. I haven't even repaid that kindness."
Dressed in full mourning as the bereaved son, Qin Geng bowed to her in