Mid-morning sunlight spilled across the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, glittering like scattered gold.
The harbor was already alive with crowds, voices blending into a familiar lively hum.
Suddenly, a lively young girl in a brown-and-black traditional outfit rushed down the street, dragging a calm, composed man behind her, causing a ripple of startled reactions among the passersby.
"Zhongli, can't you walk any faster?"
Her voice was clear and bright, though tinged with urgency.
Zhongli maintained an unhurried pace.
"Director Hu Tao, there's no need for such haste. The client, Master Zhang, has already entrusted his posthumous matters to you."
But instead of slowing down, Hu Tao sped up even more.
"That means nothing! That vile Song never plays by the rules." She huffed angrily. "If he gets there first, he'll use that nauseating sweet talk of his and steal the job!"
Hearing this, Zhongli silently lengthened his stride.
After all, his consultation tabs had nearly pushed the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor into the red. He had no desire to see it collapse.
After nearly a quarter hour of sprinting, they finally reached their destination — a grand, imposing estate.
Before the gates, a donkey cart stood quietly, piled with a wide assortment of funerary supplies, each item neatly arranged.
Beside the cart stood a tall, elegant young woman with an air of cool detachment.
She wore her familiar white-and-blue attire, accented with red cords, its elegant design outlining her tall, graceful figure.
Her waist was slender like a willow branch, her posture poised, and her long, straight legs carried a sculpted elegance.
It was Shenhe, unmistakably of Liyue.
The moment Hu Tao saw her, frustration flared in her chest like tinder catching fire.
Without hesitation, she strode rapidly toward her, forcing her tone to remain polite.
"Miss Shenhe, has that scoundrel Song gone inside already?"
Shenhe's brows lifted slightly, her expression as cold as frost.
"His name is Song Yinjian, not 'scoundrel Song.' He entered some time ago."
Her voice was like water from an icy spring — calm, distant, and without warmth.
Hu Tao's heart dropped. Something was definitely wrong.
She moved to rush inside.
But before she reached the door, a tall, burly guard blocked her way with an outstretched arm.
"Without the madam's permission, no one may enter."
Hu Tao raised her chin.
"I am Hu Tao, the 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor! I already settled matters with Master Zhang — his funeral rites are ours to handle."
The guard only shook his head.
"The madam has decided to entrust everything to why did you arrive so late after his passing? Leave now. Don't create trouble."
"But—" Hu Tao began, but the guard cut her off impatiently.
"Funeral rites are solemn matters. Do you mean to disturb the peace of the deceased?"
Hu Tao's anger instantly deflated.
In funerary matters, the deceased came first. Even if she believed she was in the right… she couldn't disturb someone's final rest.
She bit her lip, full of helpless frustration.
At that moment, a young man stepped out from the residence.
He wore a deep teal Daoist robe, his temperament refined and ethereal — reminiscent of someone touched by adeptal teachings.
But in Hu Tao's eyes, he was nothing but a shameless scoundrel.
Her cheeks flushed red as she pointed at him indignantly, puffed up like an angry kitten.
"Song Yinjian, you shameless fraud! I already settled everything with Master Zhang. His funeral was supposed to be ours — how dare you butt in!"
But Song Yinjian merely smiled faintly, his tone calm.
"If you truly had an agreement, why did you arrive only on the second day after his passing?"
Hu Tao froze.
"Huh? That's not right… I was sure he'd pass only today. How could that be wrong?"
She clutched her head, full of dismay.
She failed to notice the slight flicker in Song Yinjian's expression — quickly replaced by serene composure.
He stepped past her and approached Shenhe, bowing slightly.
"Senior Sister, I must trouble you again."
Shenhe simply nodded.
Shenhe followed him into the estate without a word, clearly assisting only because she had been asked to.
Inside the spacious main hall lay a body covered with a pristine white cloth.
Before it knelt a young widow in white mourning garments, trembling as she wept softly — her posture fragile, her figure solemn beneath the traditional attire.
Advance Chapters available on P@treon
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