In the hall of mourning, the coffin was gradually sealed as the vigil keepers in mourning attire sat at the door.
The spirit money was consumed by the flames and, with a gust of the night wind, scattered across the night sky.
Grey-white and quiet, the sound of rustling leaves intertwined, as if composing a requiem that made all earthly glamor fade away...
Death was always inescapable, an inevitable part of life one had to face.
No matter how illustrious or heroic one had been, in the face of death, everyone was just like anyone else.
All people would die.
The local cats and dogs would, the lords of the prefectural and state cities would, and your loved ones beside you would too...
That night, Madam Tong naturally kept the vigil.
Song Cheng did not leave either.
He sat in front of a Xuanwu Great Cauldron with a flame burning inside, continuously throwing spirit money into it.
