Chapter 209: Funeral

Chapter 209: The Funeral

To find out whether this dead Dalun was the same Dalun who had wanted to sell oranges, Meng Wan had to stay temporarily in Nakang Village.

Out of respect for the village's customs, he had to stay in Nakang Village for four days and three nights. That night, he, Xue Sheng, and Wei Kai stayed at the home of the man Wei Kai had spoken to earlier.

The man was named Nongle, short in stature, dark-skinned, and seemed like a simple, honest guy.

There was no wife in Nongle's house, only him and a seven- or eight-year-old son, so the wooden house had two spare rooms. Meng Wan stayed alone in one, while Xue Sheng and Wei Kai stayed next door.

Nongle raised his child alone, so the house was inevitably a bit messy. Just as Meng Wan was frowning at a blanket with an odd smell and clothes stained with unwashed dirt, Nongle's little son came running up with a clatter, shouting something in the local dialect.

Meng Wan felt like he was back in his past life in Thailand—he couldn't understand a single word. He quickly called for Wei Kai over from next door to translate.

Wei Kai: “He says someone outside is looking for you!”

“Huh?” Meng Wan realized it must be Song Tingzhou, who had returned and, upon finding him gone, had come looking for him.

He took Xue Sheng downstairs to the village gate and saw Song Tingzhou and Tao Shiyi, travel-worn, locked outside.

“What's going on?” Song Tingzhou held his horse's reins, and only relaxed when he saw Meng Wan come out unharmed.

Meng Wan hastily explained the situation to him, “…Luckily, you came at night; otherwise you'd have been told about the death and wasted several days here.”

But Song Tingzhou frowned after hearing Meng Wan's explanation, “You’re going to stay in Nakang Village for four days?” Even through the gaps in the wooden gate, you could feel the tension radiating off him.

Meng Wan had gone out alone for extended stays before—a few months ago, he had taken Tang Jinshuang back to Heshan County and didn’t return for a month. But this was their first time in a Zhuang village, and they couldn’t fully trust the people here. With only Xue Sheng by his side, Meng Wan was certainly a worry to him.

Song Tingzhou's schedule was tight, and he had just started the census in Nalao Village that day. Meng Wan didn’t want to delay his important work, so he smiled reassuringly, “It won’t be long. I’ll stay three nights and then go back. You’ll see me early on the fourth morning.”

Song Tingzhou was silent for a long time, then wordlessly mounted his horse and left. He seemed angry—mad at the wooden gate that kept them apart, or at Meng Wan for not asking him to stay.

Meng Wan watched as his horse disappeared into the distance. This was the first “disagreement” between him and Song Tingzhou, and his heart felt empty. He returned to the wooden building but didn’t go inside; instead, he wrapped his cloak around himself and sat under the eaves, watching the moon.

Nongle's house was close to the deceased Dalun's home, and from upstairs, Meng Wan could see a makeshift awning set up in Dalun's yard—where they'd set up the mourning hall tomorrow.

As a neighbor, Nongle was presumably close to Dalun's family. He was currently in Dalun’s yard helping set up the mourning hall. A young girl of thirteen or fourteen, her eyes red, was handing out water to helpers like him.

White paper lanterns hung from the wooden building, swaying silently in the cold wind. In their pale, ghostly light, he could see the funeral money pasted on the doors and windows.

A thick layer of stove ash was spread at the bamboo-fenced gate. Many people moved in and out of the wooden building with stern faces, and there were quiet sobs inside—sobs full of unspoken longing and grief.

The sky was gray, leaving only a heavy gloom that pressed on one’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

Even an outsider could be affected by this somber atmosphere, their spirits sinking.

Meng Wan let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t come to scold Dalun, but to ask why he had broken the contract. Since the man was now dead, he let it be. The deposit hadn’t been much anyway; he could consider it as alms for the children.

After the funeral in a few days, he would ask if any other families in the village sold Murcott oranges and discuss the bamboo weaving business with the village elder.

As he was thinking, lost in thought, he suddenly saw Song Tingzhou ride his horse right up to Nongle’s house.

Meng Wan jumped up from the bamboo chair, clattered down the wooden stairs, his voice carrying a hint of joy he hadn’t noticed, “Why did you come back? How did you get in?”

Behind Song Tingzhou was Tao Shiyi, and both their horses carried bedrolls and luggage. Song Tingzhou dismounted, first tightened Meng Wan's cloak around him, then took Meng Wan’s hands—and sure enough, they were freezing. “I met an old man on the road, gave him a ride, and he brought us into the village. It’s so cold, why are you sitting outside?”

“The blanket smells, and there’s no clean clothes to change into.” Meng Wan’s voice carried a hint of complaint.

A look of concern appeared in Song Tingzhou's eyes, “I brought some for you. I'll fix the bed now.”

He unloaded the luggage from the horse, carried it upstairs, and quickly stripped off Nongle’s old bedding, storing it in a cabinet, and replaced it with their own.

“Bathing might be inconvenient. I brought a wooden basin for you to wash up, and two sets of clean clothes. The rest are left at Nalao…”

Meng Wan suddenly ducked under Song Tingzhou’s arms and hugged him tightly around his strong waist.

Song Tingzhou’s tense face instantly softened. He dropped the clothes in his hands and hugged Meng Wan back, his voice low and warm, “What’s wrong?”

He wrapped himself around Meng Wan, giving him a sense of security nothing else could match. For some reason, Meng Wan’s eyes reddened. Feeling foolish and embarrassed by his own sentimentality, he buried his face in Song Tingzhou’s chest and said nothing.

Noticing Meng Wan's low spirits, Song Tingzhou simply lifted him up and carried him to the bed.

Meng Wan protested weakly, “I haven't washed up yet.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go get water for you to wash up now,” Song Tingzhou said.

Meng Wan had been feeling listless, but at that, he forced himself to stand up, “You’ve been traveling back and forth without proper rest. Let me fetch the water. I saw a well at the edge of the mountain during the day.”

In Nakang Village, almost every household built their wooden houses against the mountain, some even halfway up the slope. Song Tingzhou couldn't refuse Meng Wan; in fact, after seeing Meng Wan’s vulnerable state moments ago, he couldn’t bear to.

Since Song Tingzhou had appeared, Meng Wan’s mood had improved considerably. He picked up a bucket and headed toward the well he had seen during the day.

The well wasn’t far from Nongle’s house. Looking back, he could see Song Tingzhou following him at a distance, scanning the surroundings as he walked—probably scoping out the area.

Meng Wan felt reassured. But when he stood at the well’s edge, something felt wrong. The well was pitch black inside, with no reflection of light whatsoever—a dry well.

Annoyed at having come for nothing, he was about to turn and leave when a flash of white light shot up from the deep bottom of the well.

Meng Wan stepped back in surprise, and was steadied by Song Tingzhou, who had come up behind him, “What did you see?”

Meng Wan said hoarsely, “In the well… there seems to be something.”

“Step back, I’ll take a look.” Song Tingzhou pulled Meng Wan behind him and went forward to examine it, but all he saw was darkness. After waiting a bit, he still saw nothing.

Song Tingzhou returned to Meng Wan’s side and touched his pale, frightened face, “I didn’t see anything. Let’s go back. We’ll have Xue Sheng check it out during the day.”

“Mm.” Meng Wan followed him back to the wooden building.

Song Tingzhou found a water tank in the kitchen, boiled half a pot of water, mixed in cold water to make two basins of warm water. They quickly washed up, and then went to bed.

Meng Wan slept as soundly as ever. Around midnight, the sound of crying from Dalun’s house woke him. Song Tingzhou patted his back twice and softly coaxed, “Go back to sleep.” And he did.

When he woke again, it wasn’t crying but the sound of rain pattering against the window. Bitter cold seeped into his body from all sides; even under the thick quilt, there was no warmth.

He shivered with cold and tried to burrow deeper into the bedding, but it was still cold. Reluctantly, he got up to dress. The warm water for washing his face and rinsing his mouth brought a bit of comfort.

Song Tingzhou and Xue Sheng were doing their morning exercises in the yard. Tao Shiyi was clumsily imitating them. Learning martial arts was best started young; although Tao Shiyi had started a bit late, over the years he'd picked up a few basic moves from Xue Sheng—enough to handle regular folks.

Seeing Meng Wan come downstairs after washing up, Song Tingzhou stopped his movements, “Time to eat. I made some porridge; it’ll warm you up.”

The only thing Song Tingzhou could cook was porridge, along with two plates of boiled eggs. As the group ate, Nongle’s son sheepishly eyed the thick porridge in the pot.

Meng Wan told him to help himself, “This was meant for you and your father anyway. We’re imposing on your hospitality by staying here. My husband brought provisions, so we’ll take care of the meals during our stay.”

The boy scratched his head bashfully and said shyly, “Father said you are guests.” Wei Kai patted his head and replied, “These folks are high-ranking officials from outside. They don't care about the cost. Go ahead and have some porridge. There are eggs in the basin for you.”

The boy looked at Song Tingzhou's face, then hesitantly ladled himself some porridge, but didn’t dare touch the eggs.

Wei Kai translated what he'd just said to the boy for Meng Wan and the others. Meng Wan asked, “Why isn’t Nongle at home?”

Xue Sheng, a light sleeper, clearly heard the sounds from around the wooden building and said, "He came back very late last night, and probably went to help at Dalun's house early this morning."

After eating his fill, Meng Wan held a hot boiled egg in his hand as a makeshift hand warmer and said, "By the way, Xue Sheng, you and Eleven go check out the well by the mountain later. Last night, I vaguely saw something inside it."

Xue Sheng gulped down the porridge in his bowl and said, "I'll go right now."

Tao Shiyi threw the half-peeled egg into his mouth, skin and all, and swallowed it down with the porridge, almost choking. "Brother Xuesheng! Wait for me!"

Meng Wan said with amusement, "Take your time. Slow down."

Song Tingzhou held a peeled egg to his lips and said, "Never mind. You look pale. Have another egg."

Meng Wan took a small bite from his hand, frowned, and protested, "I can't eat any more."

Song Tingzhou ate the rest of the egg in two bites and didn't insist further. "Alright then. I brought you a pack of dried fruit. It's in the bundle. If you want some, go get it."

Meng Wan looked at him with a smile and said, "Alright. You're here now, so who's handling the census at Nao Stockade? Chief Clerk Qiao?"

Chief Clerk Qiao had now been promoted to Prefecture Experience (a local government position), but Meng Wan sometimes still called him Chief Clerk Qiao, out of habit.

"Yes, he's handling Nao Stockade. In a while, I'll go find the Headman of Na Gan Stockade to ask about the situation in the village." Song Tingzhou gathered the bowls and chopsticks and asked, "Do you want to come with me?"

Meng Wan stood up and stretched. "I won't go. I want to check out Dalun's house."

"Then don't rush over. Wait for Xue Sheng to come back and ask him to go with you," Song Tingzhou instructed before leaving.

The dry well wasn't far from here. After Song Tingzhou left, Meng Wan strolled over. At the well's mouth, there was only Tao Shiyi.

"Where's your Brother Xuesheng?"

Tao Shiyi pointed at the well opening. "He went down to check."

Meng Wan walked to the well's edge and indeed saw Xue Sheng at the bottom of the well. "Xue Sheng, be careful."

"I'm coming right up," came Xue Sheng's voice with an echo from inside.

The well walls were all built with stones, uneven, with large gaps, making it very easy to climb.

Xue Sheng was agile and climbed up in no time.

"Brother Xuesheng, what's down there?" Tao Shiyi asked curiously.

Xue Sheng had a strange expression. He stepped on a nearby dead branch and crushed it under his foot. "There's a dog hole down there."

"A dog hole?" Tao Shiyi asked, puzzled. "A dog hole in a well? How do you know it's a dog hole and not some other kind of hole?"

Xue Sheng looked down at the filth he had scraped off his foot and exchanged a silent glance with Tao Shiyi.

Tao Shiyi gagged and stepped back two paces. "Don't tell me you stepped in dog poop!"

Xue Sheng grimaced and grunted an "mm-hmm" in a muffled voice.

Meng Wan gazed at the narrow opening of the dry well and said, "So the thing I saw last night was a dog?"

Meng Wan, along with Xue Sheng, Tao Shiyi, and Wei Kai, picked up the paper money prepared by Nongle's family and went to Dalun's house to offer condolences.

Outside Dalun's house, there was a large orange tree, stripped of oranges. On the low bamboo fence gate, long poles were tied on the left and right, each with two white lanterns hanging, used to guide the deceased's spirit. The funeral procession the day after tomorrow would also have two men carrying these poles at the front, along with a funeral banner.

The mourning hall in the yard was already set up. In the center of the hall was a coffin made of fir wood, unpainted, a light yellow tinged with gray.

In front of the coffin was a wooden stool with a ceramic incense burner holding three bamboo incense sticks. Behind the incense burner was a brazier. On either side of the brazier knelt two women: one middle-aged and one young. The middle-aged woman was likely Dalun's wife, and the younger one was the girl Meng Wan had seen giving water to Nongle yesterday, Dalun's daughter.

Yesterday, from a distance, Meng Wan thought that the girl was young. Now, up close, he realized that she was just thin and frail; she might actually be seventeen or eighteen. But she was so thin, her slender wrists were just skin and bone, as if they could be snapped with a slight twist.

She and her mother kept adding paper money to the brazier to keep the fire from dying. Besides that, the paper money brought by mourners was also a lot. After burning a few sheets, the rest were piled aside for them to slowly add to the brazier.

The small yard was now crowded with people, most of whom were expressionless and quiet. The crying seemed like background noise, not quite part of the real world.

Wei Kai, holding a stack of paper money, walked ahead. He bent down and added two sheets to the brazier, leaving the rest in the basket nearby.

The family of the deceased, Dalun's wife and children, knelt and kowtowed with both hands on the ground, murmuring something in Zhuang language that Meng Wan couldn't understand.

Meng Wan, Xue Sheng, and the others followed Wei Kai's lead, stepped forward, and burned two sheets of paper for the deceased. Even though Meng Wan was an atheist, he still respected the dead. Regardless of ghosts or gods, these rituals were all expressions of the loved ones' remembrance of the departed.