Cao Yang, the elder brother of imperial son-in-law Cao Dong, was the mastermind behind Constable Zhao’s pursuit of Little Man and his companions.

Chu Ruoyan subtly tightened her fingers. Meng Yang couldn’t help but interject, “What nonsense are you spouting? How could His Majesty order my lord to the Ministry of Justice?”

The Ministry of Justice, an institution for criminal trials—it was a place for interrogating prisoners.

Cao Yang smiled. “Marquis of Anning, do not misunderstand. There is merely an urgent case requiring your cooperation.”

“What case demands questioning today? Are you unaware that today is the funeral procession for our Grand General?” Meng Yang seethed, wishing he could tear this obstructive official apart. The surrounding crowd murmured in agreement.

“That’s right, my lord…”

“Let the Grand General’s procession pass first…”

Cao Yang’s smile froze, his voice turning icy. “Marquis of Anning, your servants and these commoners may be ignorant, but surely you are not? Dare you defy an imperial decree?”

Yan Zheng lifted his gaze.

Before he could speak, Chu Ruoyan stepped forward, shielding him. “Lord Cao, may I ask—does the imperial decree specify immediate compliance?”

Cao Yang narrowed his eyes. “And you are?”

“This humble one is Chu Ruoyan of the Chu family.”

At her words, Cao Yang’s expression softened noticeably. “Ah, the eldest daughter of Duke Chu. As you say, His Majesty did not explicitly demand haste. However…”

“Since that is the case, might we beg your leniency to allow my father-in-law, mother-in-law, and brothers to be laid to rest first?”

Her voice was calm, yet carried an unshakable resolve.

After a pause, Cao Yang stepped aside.

Chu Ruoyan exhaled in relief, but as she moved to retreat, Yan Zheng suddenly seized her right wrist.

His hand was cold, his gaze inscrutable as it met hers. “You will join Wenjing in breaking the mourning bowl.”

She stiffened.

The ritual of “shattering the earthen bowl” was traditionally reserved for the eldest legitimate son or grandson.

If the deceased left no heir, the one who performed this act would be recognized as their child—entitled, under Great Xia law, to inherit their entire estate.

Why would Yan Zheng allow her to do this?

As she hesitated, his voice came again, low and measured. “Do you fear it… or refuse it?”

Chu Ruoyan pressed her lips together, then stepped forward to take the child’s hand.

“Don’t be afraid. Grandfather and Father will watch over us!” Yan Wenjing whispered. She nodded, and together they raised the earthen bowl—

Crack!

The bowl shattered into fragments. Mournful music swelled as seven coffins were carried through the city gates.

Just as the final coffin passed, Cao Yang barked, “Close the gates! Escort the Marquis of Anning!”

Chu Ruoyan whirled around. Inside the gates, Yan Zheng sat motionless in his wheelchair, clad in white mourning robes. He had not followed them. Cao Yang’s guards flanked him now…

As the gates groaned shut, she saw his lips form four silent words:

Protect the Yan family.

Boom!

The gates slammed closed. Yan Wenjing lunged forward, screaming, “Third Uncle! Third Uncle!”

She yanked him back, crushing him against her chest. “Wenjing—listen to me!”

“No! Where are they taking him? I have to find Third Uncle—!”

“Yan Wenjing!”

Her sharp cry silenced him. Dragging him to the coffins, she hissed, “Your father’s bones are not yet cold. Your grandfather lies here. Will you disturb their rest?”

The boy froze, tears spilling over.

Her own heart ached. Cao Yang’s scheme targeted Yan Zheng—and who knew what stance the Emperor truly took?

Yet now, with the Old Dowager ill, Madam Li distraught, and Lady Yao clinging to Fifth Young Master’s coffin, the Yan household had no leader.

Steeling herself, she commanded, “Steward Fang, proceed with the procession. Sister-in-law Li, guide Wenjing with the spirit banner. Sister-in-law Yao and I will guard the ancestral tablets. Today, we will see them buried.”

Then, raising her voice for all to hear: “To friends of the Yan family—we welcome you to mourn with us in days to come. To enemies—stand aside. For if any dare obstruct this funeral, regardless of the Yan family’s fate, I, Chu Ruoyan, will not let it rest!”

The threat quelled murmurs of dissent.

Chu Ruoyan herself mattered little—but behind her stood the might of Duke Chu’s house.

Even in decline, the Yans were not prey for scavengers.

Perhaps moved by her words, townsfolk began joining the procession. First one, then ten, then hundreds…

The funeral train stretched beyond sight. When curious onlookers asked whose passing drew such crowds, they fell silent upon learning it was the Grand General’s.

The journey passed without incident.

At Guardian Mountain Temple, Chu Ruoyan oversaw the preparation of burial pits and placement of sacrificial jars. As the seven coffins were lowered—

Madam Li finally broke, wailing, “Second Young Master! Second Young Master!”

Days of numb busyness shattered—she had never truly accepted his death.

Lady Yao was fiercer, clawing at Fifth Young Master’s coffin. “Liar! You promised to take me to Frost-View Pavilion for braised pork! Get up—get up!”

Servants struggled to restrain her.

“Earth to grave!”

At the priest’s call, soil rained down.

Grief erupted—raw, unending.

Even the temple’s reclusive monks emerged, chanting sutras for souls lost afar.

Chu Ruoyan watched, heart heavy.

In truth, only the Grand General and his wife’s bodies had been recovered.

Eldest Son Yan Xun—beheaded. Second Young Master Yan Cheng—pierced by arrows. Fifth Young Master Yan Heng—trampled to pulp. Youngest Yan Zhao—swallowed by the Lan River…

None died whole.

She closed her eyes, vowing to the wind: I will keep my promise to Yan Zheng.

Until his return, the Yan family would not fall.

On the journey back, Yan Wenjing slept exhausted in her lap. Steward Fang approached the carriage. “Third Young Madam…”

Chu Ruoyan hushed him, transferring the boy to Yulu’s care before stepping out.

“Yes, Steward Fang?”

“I… have a request.”

Surprised, she shook her head. “No need for formalities. Speak freely.”

The old man hesitated. “You saw today—seven coffins. Six held the Yan family…”

She nodded.

Yan Zheng had made it clear upon returning: six for the family, the seventh a cenotaph for 100,000 fallen soldiers.

Yet Steward Fang smiled bitterly. “No… The troops’ remains were returned to kin. That empty coffin… was left by the Young Lord for himself.”

“!!!”

Her eyes widened as he murmured, “I fear no Ministry of Justice. The Young Lord could escape a thousand traps—but what if he no longer wishes to live?”

“You may not know this, but when he returned this time, he knelt before the ancestral tablet for days and nights without a drop of water. We all thought he would kneel there until death took him. Yet the moment he heard you were to be married into the family, he began to eat again. We believed everything was finally turning for the better—but when the coffin was lowered, he brought along the one he’d prepared for himself… Young Madam, this old servant begs you to find a way to see the young master once more. The Yan family now rests on his shoulders alone. No matter what, he must not seek death!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep