Song Ci walked into the mourning hall, greeted by a sea of white, with the smoke from incense and paper money making eyes water.
In the northwest corner of the hall, kneeled a group of female relatives and mourning children, all quite young, with few adult men present.
Song Ci turned her gaze away, feeling an indescribable emotion.
With the downfall of the nation and family, for the clans who surrendered, at least two to three generations won't amount to much, surviving just to pass on the lineage.
The current Xia family is increasingly weak in inheritance, it's not an exaggeration to say it's on the decline, and now with the deaths of a few more people, this already unprosperous clan is further burdened.
Song Ci let out a sigh, stepped forward to receive a stick of incense handed by the host family, held it reverently with three bows, silently wishing in her heart for the next life not to be born into an imperial family, and then placed the incense into the burner.
