Throughout the subsequent arrangements, Wang Qiqi conducted herself with remarkable propriety; even during the interment, she shed no tears. Had it not been for her eyes being crimson when she returned to the rest area at the crematorium, coupled with the damp spot on Luo Hongjuan’s shoulder, and the accounts from several neighbors about her demeanor near the incinerator, people might have truly believed the girl heartless. Having experienced the shock of the crematorium, Li Cui no longer harbored any designs on the burial plot for Wang Dajun and his wife—a plot clearly more extravagant than those of the neighboring graves. “Qiqi, don’t be too sad. If you keep this up, it will worry your parents up above.”

Wang Damei also offered gentle persuasion from the side, while Wang Rui performed even better, steadying Wang Qiqi, constantly dabbing at her eyes, and recounting how wonderfully her uncle and his wife had treated her during their lives.

At this moment, Wang Qiqi had little capacity to observe Wang Rui’s performance; she was enveloped in her own solitary world. Her excessively quiet composure, however, made Luo Hongjuan even more uneasy, causing her to constantly glance toward Qiqi. Fortunately, Qiqi’s subsequent conduct proved quite thoughtful and attentive.

“Qiqi sincerely thanks everyone here for the care and help shown to my family these past days. I don’t know how else to express my gratitude, so please consider this meal my small token of thanks,” Wang Qiqi paused. “Order whatever wine you wish, or any beverage you prefer; just find the waiter.”

Many in attendance were initially stunned upon entering what they considered a rather high-class establishment. The sheer grandeur was impressive. However, after being ushered into the private room, disappointment settled in. Why were there only cold dishes on the table, no wine, no soft drinks? Some inwardly grumbled, wondering if the girl had exhausted all the budget on the funeral home and the cemetery, and whether this meal, despite the fancy venue, would be meager. But when they heard Wang Qiqi’s words, a wave of delight swept through them: they could order drinks freely—there was no limit.

“Qiqi, does that mean we can order Moutai and Wuliangye?” someone, a colleague of Wang Dajun, called out.

“Yes,” Wang Qiqi replied. She had anticipated such a request and certainly would not refuse; otherwise, she would have instructed the restaurant beforehand on the caliber of liquor to serve. “This meal today is meant as one last offering from my parents. When they hosted dinners in life, they never scrimped on these things, and I won’t either, regarding the food or the drinks. In short, I hope that when you all remember this meal in the future, you will only think one thing: Wang Dajun and his wife were truly generous people; even for this final gathering, they ensured we ate and drank well.”

“Hear, hear!” Zhu Jiong boomed out, looking at the slender Qiqi, whose spirit reminded him of Wang Dajun. “Qiqi, your sentiment is excellent, and we understand your heart. Although we all know that the other party paid substantial compensation for your parents’ deaths, that money is what they left you. You still have college to attend, a marriage ahead; every penny spent is one penny less for you. Honestly, do you all feel comfortable ordering such expensive liquor? I know Moutai and Wuliangye are fine spirits. If Wang Dajun were alive today, I’d encourage everyone to drink heavily—why? Because Wang Dajun would earn it back. But now…”

Truthfully, some people had only thought it; if they were actually offered the chance to order Moutai or Wuliangye, they wouldn't have the stomach for it. But others felt differently. This was the last time they’d drink on Wang Dajun’s tab, and his daughter had explicitly given permission. Why be so restrained? Now that Zhu Jiong had spoken, how could the others argue? Did they dare say, We specifically want Moutai and Wuliangye?

Wang Damei had initially assumed that young Qiqi had simply forgotten to purchase the liquor. She was startled by Qiqi’s proposal—how could she allow guests to order drinks so freely? With so many men present, a few rounds of competitive drinking could easily see ten or eight bottles disappear, possibly making the drink bill several times higher than the banquet itself. Before Wang Damei could speak, someone immediately asked about Moutai and Wuliangye. Thankfully, someone nearby intervened, and judging by his demeanor, he seemed to be Da Di’s superior. “Today is for my younger brother…” Wang Damei took a breath. “While they did leave a little money for my poor niece, every penny truly counts. As for the Wuliangye and Moutai, perhaps something slightly less expensive? Of course, we will ensure there is plenty of drink.”

With the superior speaking, and the host family’s elder giving her opinion, what could anyone say? Furthermore, if they truly ordered ten or eight bottles of Moutai, would they even have the nerve to drink them down? Even with Qiqi’s blessing, the gossip would be that those drunkards only cared for drinking, ignoring the plight of the young orphan girl. “Don’t worry, Chief. We were just joking to liven things up a bit. Remember how much fun we used to have drinking when Dajun was here?”

“Exactly, exactly! We just enjoy this part. Volume over quality is fine with us.”

The ringleaders quickly subdued the momentum, and those who had been itching to order high-end liquor had to abandon their ideas. They began calling the waiters to order the common white spirits they were accustomed to, which, though varied in brand, were all priced between fifty and eighty yuan. This brought a wave of relief to Wang Damei.

Wang Qiqi didn't care about the price of the drinks they ordered; having made the offer, she wouldn't retract it. But she hadn't expected Uncle Zhu to speak up for her. Frankly, if her aunt had spoken, Qiqi could have guessed the sentiment: given the aunt’s famously frugal nature, even if she wasn't footing the bill, even if she knew the saved money wouldn't go to her, she would have said the same thing. That was Auntie: a person unwilling to spend her own money and unwilling to see others spend excessively. Though stingy, she was far better than Li Cui.

“Qiqi, you are still a child. Even if you have money, you must learn to spend it sparingly, do you understand?” Wang Damei whispered, admonishing Qiqi. Alas, this girl was too young. She had just stood at Da Di’s grave praising how Qiqi understood the difficulty of earning money and was very frugal, yet in this short time, the girl had started behaving wastefully.

“I know, but Auntie is here, and I wanted the atmosphere at the banquet to be better, livelier,” Wang Qiqi quietly ate the specially prepared vegetarian meal, finding it surprisingly delicious. “Auntie, please eat more. Auntie, Xiao Rui, eat more too. Thank you all for going to so much trouble today.”

At this point, no matter how angry Li Cui felt, the thought of a thousand-yuan red envelope arriving shortly quelled all her displeasure. “Trouble? We are all family.”

Wang Rui, looking at the lavish spread, ate with evident enjoyment. The fine ingredients, skillfully prepared, were truly delicious. “Sister, don’t worry, I will definitely take good care of myself.” It would be such a waste of such excellent food not to eat it. “Hey, Qiqi, why are you only eating vegetables?” The delicious spare ribs, eel, and shrimp—all things Qiqi used to love most—why wasn't she touching them now? Instead, she was eating a clearly specialized vegetarian plate, which looked very bland. Wang Rui certainly wasn't interested in that.

“Mm,” Wang Qiqi nodded. “I plan to eat vegetarian until the end of the month.”

Eating vegetarian for a whole month? Hearing this, Wang Rui felt a chill run down her spine. Good heavens, she couldn't manage even one day, let alone over a month. Wang Damei looked at Qiqi with surprise upon hearing this, though she kept silent.

If the atmosphere at the crematorium that morning was the most sorrowful, then by the time they reached the cemetery, emotions had already recovered somewhat—after all, they weren't immediate kin. But when everyone gathered at the restaurant for the Jie Hui Jiu (A custom for cleansing impurity after a funeral), the atmosphere became lively. If not for the solemn purpose of the meal, Wang Qiqi might have coldly watched someone start a drinking game.

After seeing off many guests who were swaying on their feet from drink, Wang Dagui turned to his elder sister. “Let’s go over to Big Brother’s place for a while longer.” The money hadn’t been collected yet, and some matters remained unsettled.

Wang Damei shot her younger brother a look—was there a need to rush? It was just ten thousand yuan. She failed to notice the eager anticipation in the eyes of her own son and daughter watching her from behind.

“Sure, let’s stop by the house,” Wang Qiqi thought that even if Wang Dagui hadn't suggested it, she would have asked them to come by anyway; the money hadn’t been handed over.