Volume One: Menial Work in Changshui County Chapter Eighteen: Please, Have Some Humanity
“Brother Lu, why are you setting up a table at the entrance?”
“There’s a ledger on this table—what’s written in it?”
“Song Tao—a jar of aged wine (price unknown), a chunk of air-dried cured meat (worth fifty coins), one tael of silver. Zhou Cheng—two taels of silver (sword temporarily pledged).”
“...”
Instantly, the man’s expression soured as if he’d swallowed something foul.
Reluctantly, he pulled out a tael of silver from his pocket. “Put me down for one tael!”
Everyone from the Demon-Slaying Bureau was contributing this much; if he gave less, it would be embarrassing. Besides, Zhou Cheng had a notoriously bad reputation in the Bureau. Even Zhou Cheng had paid his respects—if he didn’t, he’d be the subject of gossip.
Giving up a tael of silver was painful.
“Also, record a temporary pledge for me. I don’t have enough money on me, so I’ll leave my sword here.”
This newly arrived colleague took the same approach as Zhou Cheng. He had no choice—he hadn’t brought enough silver.
After recording the transaction, the colleague, still wincing, joined Wang Yunshan and Zhou Cheng. Before he even reached them, he saw their schadenfreude-filled grins.
...
By noon, colleagues from the Demon-Slaying Bureau trickled in one after another. Each sat in the courtyard with a mournful look, finally lending the funeral its proper atmosphere.
Lu Jiuzhang tallied up the morning’s gifts: about eighty-seven taels of silver. Of course, that was just on paper; in reality, only a dozen taels were in hand, with dozens of swords pledged as collateral. In other words, these people still owed Lu Jiuzhang several dozen taels.
Stretching his back, Lu Jiuzhang realized for the first time how effortless it was to earn money.
With most guests arrived, and those absent unlikely to show, Lu Jiuzhang began to tidy up, preparing to put away the gift ledger and start the main proceedings.
“Tap tap tap...”
Just as Lu Jiuzhang stood up, a stern-faced man entered through the gate—none other than Chen Xuanfeng.
Lu Jiuzhang suspected Chen Xuanfeng was the mastermind behind it all. They were sworn enemies; any advantage over him was worthwhile.
“Ahem...what’s all this?”
Before Lu Jiuzhang could respond, Chen Xuanfeng pointed to the pile of Bureau-issued swords beside the table and asked.
“Director Chen, these are their tribute gifts,” Lu Jiuzhang explained.
“Nonsense! These are Demon-Slaying Bureau swords—how can they be used as funeral offerings?” Chen Xuanfeng’s face darkened as he berated Lu Jiuzhang.
“Director Chen, please calm down. They didn’t have enough money, so their swords are temporarily pledged here. When they retrieve the funds, I’ll return the swords. This wasn’t my idea—they did it themselves.”
Lu Jiuzhang hastily distanced himself.
No need to be scolded by Chen Xuanfeng over this.
“Fools! Weapons are a warrior’s second life—how can they be pledged so lightly?” Chen Xuanfeng glowered, chastising the Bureau staff present.
Everyone bowed their heads, except Lu Jiuzhang, who met Chen Xuanfeng’s gaze with respectful composure.
“This is my tribute gift,” Chen Xuanfeng declared, tossing five taels of silver onto the table before striding into the courtyard.
Seeing this, the crowd breathed a sigh of relief.
A few angry words from Chen Xuanfeng meant the matter was settled. The real fear was if he said nothing now, only to retaliate later at the Bureau.
With the Chief absent, Chen Xuanfeng was the highest authority—no one dared defy him.
...
Another five taels collected—ninety-two in total.
Lu Jiuzhang’s monthly salary was only two or three taels; with side earnings, perhaps five. In a single morning, he’d earned nearly nineteen months’ wages!
With nearly all guests present, it was time to carry the coffin and lay Lu Huaigu to rest outside the city.
No elaborate rituals—four pallbearers were hired to carry Lu Huaigu’s coffin toward the outskirts.
Lu Jiuzhang, clad in mourning attire, led the procession.
Mourning garb is graded into five levels—rough hemp, plain hemp, major merit, minor merit, and fine hemp. These are called the “five mournings.”
Rough hemp is first rank, worn for the death of one’s parents. The garment isn’t hemmed, cut from coarse cloth with a knife and stitched together haphazardly to represent the deepest grief—too distraught to make proper clothing, one simply drapes rough fabric over oneself.
For the loss of an elder brother, Lu Jiuzhang wore third-rank mourning: major merit. The linen was finer, more carefully made.
...
With the process streamlined, Lu Jiuzhang led the crowd out of the city. The procession behind him was grand and solemn, suffused with grief and anger—a funeral atmosphere thick as fog.
To outsiders, it might seem genuine sorrow.
Only those who had paid tribute knew their true feelings.
Three kilometers outside the city stood a small hill. Beneath it, five or six scattered graves.
“Old Lu, may you journey well,” Wang Yunshan sighed as he surveyed the burial ground. “Old Lu, you enjoyed life—could frequent the Crimson Pavilion for free. Even in death, you’re surrounded by good fortune!”
He reckoned that, even after a lifetime of striving, he’d never match Lu Huaigu’s luck—truly enviable, provoking both jealousy and admiration.
“Let’s begin the burial,” Lu Jiuzhang said quietly.
The moment had come; the sooner it was over, the better.
Once the staff of the Demon-Slaying Bureau had seen Lu Huaigu off, they’d need to return to their posts.
The procedure had been pared down to its bare essentials—most rituals abandoned.
The coffin was lowered; Lu Jiuzhang took up a spade and covered it with earth.
Soon, the coffin was buried, a mound forming above it.
After a bit of simple tidying, the task was complete.
Lu Huaigu was buried.
The elder brother who had accompanied Lu Jiuzhang for half a year in this world was now returned to it.
Lu Jiuzhang glanced around at the guests—most were already preparing to leave.
Only Chen Xuanfeng remained, gazing into the distance.
Following his gaze, Lu Jiuzhang spotted a woman standing atop the far side of the hill.
She was not far off, and with Lu Jiuzhang’s improved constitution, he could clearly see her—it was Miss Muyun.
When Lu Jiuzhang had invited her to the funeral, she had refused.
Yet now, she had come after all.
Lu Jiuzhang was deeply moved.
After all, people do have feelings.
“Director Chen, that’s an old friend of my brother’s,” Lu Jiuzhang explained, worried the woman might be implicated.
“Old friend? More like a lover from the Crimson Pavilion!” Chen Xuanfeng shot Lu Jiuzhang a glance that seemed to say, “Do you take me for a fool?”
Old friend, indeed.
Who would believe such a claim?