The journey from Qishui County to Lanjing wasn’t terribly long. By rushing, they managed to arrive at their destination before evening.

Chen Yuan woke up to a painfully stiff neck, feeling as though it would CRACK and snap if he turned his head.

Even the most luxurious car was no match for the comfort of a bed.

“Awake?” Jiang Zhengfeng, who had been resting with his eyes closed, heard the movement beside him and handed a bottle of water to Chen Yuan.

“Mm-hmm.”

Chen Yuan twisted the cap off and glanced out the window.

He had been on the highway when he fell asleep. Now, the Lanjing cityscape glittered outside his window.

This whole affair had been so sudden. He never expected to be back here after only two days.

“Where are we going now? Straight to the elder’s home?”

“No, that outfit won’t do. You need to dress more formally for a funeral. I ordered a suit for you ahead of time. It should have been delivered to the hotel by now. We’ll go over after you change.”

“Why a hotel? You could have just stayed at my place in Lanjing and saved the money.”

“It’s fine. The hotel stay is free—it’s owned by a friend. Besides, the apartment I bought for you is your personal space.” Jiang Zhengfeng offered a faint smile, his face betraying none of the grief expected of someone about to attend a funeral.

Perhaps at his age, or with his status, he had made a habit of not showing his emotions, whether happy or sad.

At least, as far as Chen Yuan could remember, Jiang Zhengfeng had always been this stoic.

Beyond a frown or a smile, he rarely showed any other emotion.

They were already in Lanjing, yet his father still hadn’t revealed the identity of his deceased friend. Back home, during dinner, he had only said it was someone “very important.”

Chen Yuan had to come.

‘A father’s command is hard to defy.’ Sometimes, Chen Yuan found these upper-class types strange. He was being dragged along to mourn a complete stranger.

‘Was it just for appearances?’

As Chen Yuan pondered this, the car pulled up in front of the hotel.

He was dressed in his usual down jacket and a pair of black jeans. Even the driver was more formally attired.

After changing, however, he looked much more the part.

The suit Jiang Zhengfeng had ordered for him fit surprisingly well. It was a deep, pure black that immediately conveyed a sense of solemnity.

“All that’s missing is a white flower. I don’t need to worry about such details, and as my son, you don’t have to either… On second thought, let’s use a handkerchief instead.”

Jiang Zhengfeng took a white handkerchief from his pocket, folded it neatly, and pulled Chen Yuan closer to tuck it into his breast pocket.

In traditional Huaxia culture, funeral proceedings are often even more intricate and strict than weddings.

It is a form of respect for the deceased, a tradition rooted in thousands of years of history. And though it has been simplified over time, many customs remain.

For many, the first true understanding of life’s gravity comes from the passing of a loved one.

Chen Yuan had never attended something so formal. He looked down at his slightly shorter father meticulously adjusting the handkerchief, feeling a momentary sense of bewilderment.

“Alright, that’s good. You don’t need to say much when we get there. Just follow my lead. I know you’re not fond of fussy affairs; we’ll only stay for an hour.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Jiang Zhengfeng patted his son’s shoulder and walked ahead of him.

And so, the father and son made their way to their destination.

…

Chen Yuan had never seen such an extravagant funeral. To be precise, he had never seen anything like it, not even in films.

They say reality is stranger than fiction, and they weren’t wrong in the slightest.

He was completely floored the moment he stepped out of the car at a small villa built by a lake.

Pure white flower petals were scattered from the brightly lit main entrance. Both sides were lined with countless lit candles and wreaths, their flickering lights merging into a single sheet of flame in the dim night. The grassy lawn was dotted with small round tables, each bearing an elegiac couplet.

A solemn, silent atmosphere washed over him the moment he set foot on the grass.

No one spoke. A group of middle-aged people stood off to the side, heads bowed in silent mourning, not one of them looking up at the arriving guests.

Everyone wore black, but each person also had a conspicuous splash of white on their attire.

He followed Jiang Zhengfeng forward, unable to resist scanning his surroundings. He could vaguely make out the names left on each of the couplets.

When they reached the main hall, he saw a photograph of an old man resting in the center of a massive white floral arrangement.

The man in the photo gazed forward with a kindly expression, his body slightly bowed. His weathered, elderly face was etched with wrinkles.

“Jiang, you’ve come.”

A young man of about thirty stood at the entrance, tear tracks staining his cheeks. Upon seeing Jiang Zhengfeng, he quickly bowed his head in greeting, his expression one of indescribable grief.

He was clearly a blood relative of the deceased.

“We’re a bit late, but thankfully not too late.”

“Please, go on in.”

“Yes… My condolences.”

Jiang Zhengfeng strode forward. As they walked through the corridor, he and Chen Yuan maintained a subtle distance.

“The deceased was my teacher,” he began quietly. “A distinguished professor of finance, renowned both at home and abroad. I spent several years studying under him… The elegiac couplets outside, I’m sure you saw them, were all left by his students.”

“I saw them.” For some reason, Chen Yuan’s heart felt heavy.

“He taught countless students, published several books, and lived a legendary life, yet he chose to retire here in Lanjing… Yuan, I’ve always believed that there are almost no people in this world who will be good to you without reason, but my teacher… he was very good to me.”

A rare look of grief washed over Jiang Zhengfeng’s face.

“Dad…”

“I brought you here because my teacher was a great help when I was searching for you. Without him, I might never have found you… They say a teacher for a day is a father for a lifetime. I lost my own father when I was seven. When we go to offer incense… I want you to call him Grandfather.”

Chen Yuan froze, stunned by this unexpected, complex history.

‘Although he’d never met the old man, a strange sense of sorrow welled up inside him.’

Jiang Zhengfeng’s words—”I lost my own father when I was seven”—weighed on him especially heavily.

Chen Yuan turned to look at his father, a sudden realization dawning on him. ‘It’s like I don’t know him at all.’

Beyond the corridor, a dense sea of people stood in silence.

In the center was an oval arrangement of white flowers surrounding a coffin. A group of men, women, and children knelt beside it.

The sound of soft weeping filled the air.

Before Chen Yuan could get a clear look, a strange cry rang out in what sounded like a regional dialect.

“Jiang Zhengfeng arrives with his son, Jiang Yuan!”

Immediately, row after row of eyes turned toward them, and the crowd parted to form a path.

For a moment, the pressure of all those gazes made Chen Yuan freeze.

Even the kneeling men, women, and children turned their heads, though they did not raise them, remaining bowed to the floor. An elderly man standing to the far right approached and handed them a bouquet.

Jiang Zhengfeng and Chen Yuan took the flowers and silently walked forward to lay them down.

Then, they knelt.

The onlookers were stunned; none of them had ever heard that Jiang Zhengfeng had a son.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep