Two days later—Saturday.
At five in the morning, the shrill ring of an alarm clock cut through the darkness of the bedroom.
Li Qiao reached out with her slender, fair arm to silence it, then opened her reddened eyes.
Outside the window, rain trickled steadily. A misty, gray sky draped the entire city in dampness.
By 5:20 a.m., Li Qiao was fully dressed in black. While her family was still asleep, she stepped into the rain holding an umbrella.
At the intersection near the second traffic light on South China Road, an old Santana sedan had already been waiting on the muddy roadside.
Less than ten minutes later, Li Qiao's figure appeared in the rearview mirror.
Dressed solemnly in black shirt and pants, she approached with an umbrella, opened the passenger door, folded her umbrella, and got in, nodding slightly to Mo Qi.
In the back seat, Master Zhong Jiu opened his eyes slightly at the sound and said,
"Let's go straight there."
Today, a special embalming ritual was scheduled at the Nanyang Mountain Funeral Home.
From the upscale neighborhood on South China Road to Nanyang Mountain, the drive took about an hour.
With the rainy weather and slippery roads, Mo Qi kept a steady, cautious pace.
In the front seat, Li Qiao leaned her elbow against the door frame, fingers resting near her lips. Her eyes held a calm and quiet depth that didn't match her age.
Mo Qi glanced at her from time to time, feeling uneasy.
Before every embalming job, junior sister Li always suppressed her emotions like this—but never spoke about it.
——
About an hour and a half later, the Santana arrived near Nanyang Mountain.
Located on the city's outskirts, the mountain was lush and serene under the cleansing rain. A winding road led through the forest, and a left turn midway brought them to the funeral home's management center.
Once they parked, all three donned black masks as per protocol.
Staff from the center came to greet them.
Under the gloomy sky, Li Qiao and Mo Qi followed Master Zhong Jiu into the reception room.
A staff member respectfully handed Zhong Jiu a record book and said,
"Master Jiu, here's the deceased's information. Twenty-three years old, died… from an accident."
"What about the family? Any special requests?" Zhong Jiu flipped through the booklet, his gaze steady and composed.
The staff member gave an awkward chuckle, then glanced secretively at the tightly closed reception room door. Lowering his voice, he said,
"Apparently, there's no family. Word is… he was beaten to death."
Zhong Jiu frowned—not surprised by the cause of death, but tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully.
"No family? Then who's signing the official paperwork? You guys—"
"Don't worry, Master Jiu," the staffer quickly interjected. "There may be no family, but this guy—he's no ordinary person. The one handling his funeral… is that man. After the ceremony, he's being buried in the Nanyang Mountain Cemetery."
The way the staff spoke made it clear—this wasn't just any burial. When he mentioned "that man," he even gave a little thumbs-up and pointed twice in the direction of Nanyang Mountain.
Zhong Jiu instantly understood.
At that moment, Mo Qi, clearly driven by curiosity, leaned closer and whispered,
"Teacher, where exactly is the Nanyang Mountain Cemetery? I've never heard of it."
Zhong Jiu gave him a look.
"You know the guy who lives in the Nanyang Mansion, right? It's his private cemetery."
Mo Qi froze for a few seconds, then inhaled sharply,
"Sh-Shang…"
He stammered on the name for a while but didn't dare say it aloud.
No wonder the funeral home felt quieter than usual today.
That young man who died… clearly had serious connections.
And upon hearing this exchange, even Li Qiao's eyes—exposed above the edge of her mask—revealed a flash of surprise.
The young man who died accidentally… was one of Shang Yu's people?