“Your man’s dead and you’re not crying?” The man hoisted his hoe, staring at the woman who stood absentmindedly at her doorstep.
The woman’s face changed instantly. “Stop with your nonsense!”
The man’s grin deepened. He lifted his chin, looking at her with undisguised contempt. “Nonsense?”
“Isn’t Jiang Dayong always coming around here? Didn’t he buy the milk for your kid?”
His gaze landed on the child drinking milk in the yard.
“I thought you were so high and mighty, but in the end, you’d stoop to someone like Jiang Dayong. I guess you’re just desperate for a man, playing the mistress to him.”
The woman’s face flushed red with rage. She spat back at him, “I’d rather take Jiang Dayong than ever look at you. What makes you think you’re any better?”
“Me? Acting high and mighty? Back then, you were shamelessly chasing after me just like this.”
More people were gathering around. The man started to feel nervous, trying to duck his head and slip away.
The woman kept cursing after him until his figure disappeared from sight.
After he left, the woman ignored the stares of the villagers and shut the courtyard door tightly.
She looked at her baby, who couldn’t even speak yet, and let out a deep sigh.
She hadn’t expected Jiang Dayong to die. Honestly, she thought he was okay—at least he bought milk for the child, which was more than their own biological father had ever done.
Now that Jiang Dayong was dead, she’d have to start scouting for someone new.
On the other side, as Ji Zhaoxi and Zhou Chiye stepped out of the car, the villagers’ eyes kept turning to them.
Actually, the car itself had been watched ever since it entered the village. It wasn’t that anyone knew the brand; they just stared at anything that moved—cars, motorcycles, even bikes, and tricycles passing through the village entrance.
They never missed a chance to gawk.
The house was lively. A few kids ran in laughing, then ran out pretending to cry—they were at that age where death fascinated them.
Ordinarily, Ji Zhaoxi and Ji Huaichuan should have been the ones to change Jiang Dayong’s clothes, but one refused, and the other kept silent.
The steward had left the task to the funeral master.
The funeral master and his apprentice were sweating profusely, wiping Jiang Dayong clean and dressing him.
By the time they finished getting the clothes on him, the old master was panting on the side.
“Did no good in life, and now even his family won’t dress him after death,” the master said, wiping his forehead.
At least the pay was good. He swore he’d never take on a job like this again.
The corpse was heavy and cold, and he was already old enough to be taking it easy. Working so hard to earn money was no easy business.
Once Jiang Dayong was in his burial clothes, several strong men outside placed him into the coffin set up in the living room. The suona band started playing, and Ji Zhaoxi sat nearby burning funeral paper. She burned so much that the smoke choked everyone around her, making them move farther away.
“Little sister is really filial, burning paper for her father,” an old woman muttered, hunched at the doorway, eating peanuts and chatting with a neighbor.
“The man himself wasn’t much, but the kids he left behind do have a sense of duty,” an auntie yawned, snatching a few peanuts from the old woman’s hand.
Just then, a woman came crying from outside: “Dayong! Oh, Dayong! Why did you leave so soon! I was waiting for you to come eat at my place!”
The woman flung herself onto the coffin wailing, and the others hurried to stop her. Ji Zhaoxi and Ji Huaichuan were pushed forward too.
“Don’t let your tears fall inside—it’ll keep Dayong from resting peacefully,” a frowning man said.
“Dayong! Dayong!” The woman’s sobs grew louder, her face red with crying.
Ji Zhaoxi, following the example of others, patted her back and comforted her: “Auntie, don’t be so sad. My dad’s gone Underground to enjoy his peace.”
The woman hugged Ji Zhaoxi tightly, crying. “Little sister, don’t be too upset about your father. We’re all your family. Come to us if you need anything.”
Ji Huaichuan chimed in half-heartedly: “Auntie, stop crying. Enjoying peace is a good thing, right?”
Ji Zhaoxi nodded and tugged her. “Auntie, go rest for a while.”
The woman’s crying stopped instantly. She wiped her tears and craned her neck to look outside. “Little sister, did your third aunt come too?”
Spotting a woman chatting cheerfully nearby, she broke into a grin: “I’m going to have a word with that old hag.”
She immediately swayed off to find the other relatives.
When the family got together, things only got more interesting.
The others were long used to the dramatic shifts, gossiping more cheerfully by the door.
Ji Zhaoxi lowered her head to answer her mom’s texts. Outside, firecrackers were set off again. She glanced up, then went inside the house.
Zhou Chiye followed her inside. The firecrackers boomed endlessly—one round after another, almost piercing their eardrums.
Noticing Ji Zhaoxi’s frown, Zhou Chiye was silent for a moment before stepping in front of her, covering her ears tightly.
Ji Zhaoxi froze, surprised. Zhou Chiye looked away awkwardly, his ears turning red.
His palms rested against the soft, delicate skin of her ears. He stared out the window at the firecrackers, but all he could think about was the touch in his hands.
Ji Zhaoxi finished replying to the message and smiled at him. Zhou Chiye saw her lips move but couldn’t catch what she said.
He had to bend down, leaning closer to her.
“What did you say? I didn’t hear you…” His voice was a little hoarse.
Another volley of firecrackers went off. Ji Zhaoxi leaned near his ear and shouted: “I was asking if you want to go home now?”
Her warm breath hit his ear, and the noise of the firecrackers faded. All he could hear was her voice. He watched her lips part and close, and his mind went back to that bottle of water.
His whole body tensed. He rasped, “No.”
Ji Zhaoxi smiled at him and stuffed some snacks into his hand. Zhou Chiye had to force himself not to grab her fingers.
After she turned around, he let out a deep sigh. God, he wanted to hold her hand.
Back in the village, whenever someone held a funeral, Jiang Dayong never showed up to help—he only came for the free food. Now that he was dead, few people offered their help. Everyone in the house now had been hired by the steward.
The group had already split up—some to cook, some to carry the coffin. Strangely, Jiang Dayong’s death let them all make a little money, so everyone was full of motivation.
The suona band was the busiest bunch in the house. One of them was a new addition. He faked playing with dramatic effort, furrowing his brows tightly as if he were blowing, while the others flushed red from actually playing.
Making money was simple—you just needed enough nerve to pull it off.
Another suona player glanced sideways at him. Was it just him, or did this guy look like he wasn’t actually making a sound…
