Pan Long learned that his teacher had become an Immortal or Buddha on the morning of the Ghost Festival.
After returning to Guangling City yesterday, he had said a word to Wu Jixing, then taken his parents and clansmen to Dingfeng Town on the wind.
Carrying a whole crowd through the air by Wind Riding was hard work.
He had huffed and puffed through several hours of flight. By the time he reached Dingfeng Town, the sky was pitch-black. By his reckoning, it was already the fifteenth day of the seventh month.
His elders could see how tired he was, so once they arrived, they told him to rest. They would handle the preparations for the ancestral rites.
Great Xia had a saying: "Burn early in spring, burn late in autumn." At the Qingming Festival, it was best to honor the ancestors early. Particular families began their rites just after sunrise and ate breakfast only when they were done. At the Ghost Festival, it was best to do so late. Those families timed the rites to end at sunset, just in time for dinner.
Of course, those who weren't particular did as they pleased. Even so, honoring the ancestors in the morning at Qingming and in the afternoon at the Ghost Festival remained the habit of most people in Great Xia.
So Pan Long went to his room, lay down, and slept straight through to daybreak.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a bird hastily folded from a leaf resting beside his pillow.
The little bird was crude beyond belief, but bright flames burned in its eyes. The power contained in those two tiny sparks startled even Pan Long.
When it saw him wake, the crude bird came up to his face and gave him a gentle peck.
Bi