"Very high-spirited…"
Fan Xian had one foot on the railing on the topmost floor of the Suzhou branch of the Baoyue Brothel. In one hand he held a fan that he was using. The continuous cold rains at the end of spring had stopped and the heat had returned. In a flash, it made the temperature of the air rise again.
He narrowed his eyes and looked at the procession on the road wearing funeral gear. Hearing the mournful sounds of the music, he couldn't hold back a smile. Ming Qingda indeed had some tricks up his sleeve. The mournful and angry look on his face, and his attitude of absolute irreconcilability with Fan Xian, were done very well. He actually had the old Ming matriarch's funeral procession cut across the entire city. The route was very ostentatious. Along the way were commoners who put out little tables with fruits to worship her. Beggars who had received benefits in the past kowtowed to the giant slow moving coffin as it moved along the street.
