Zhou Huan stood at the entrance of the burial shroud shop, gazing up at the stars. From the shadows, a figure emerged—the young man from earlier.

The young man looked up at the shop sign, then offered a faint smile. “Old Song’s Shroud Shop, hmph! I thought I was dealing with some truly formidable master. To think someone in the funeral business could be killed by a ghost—what a tragedy for our trade!”

“May I ask your name, young brother? Since you know mine, I suppose I’m owed the courtesy of knowing yours,” Zhou Huan stated his request.

“My surname is Li. I am Li Tianxiong, and we are colleagues!” As he spoke, Li Tianxiong acted smugly, stepping forward to offer his hand for a shake.

Zhou Huan met the gesture with a slight smile, offering only a perfunctory handshake. “Li Tianxiong, you are also a Funeral Master?”

“Heh heh, not yet, but I’ve been studying for a long time, and given my natural talent, I’m quite formidable!” The man seemed to be issuing a challenge. He promptly pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Zhou Huan. “Master Zhou, my number is on there. Give me a call if you ever think of me. We should spar sometime.”

Zhou Huan appraised Li Tianxiong once more. The man was tall and slender, with delicate, handsome features—truly a striking figure. “Your attire is quite sharp, I’ll grant you that. But how is it that someone so young is involved with the affairs of ghosts and the netherworld? Are you some kind of prodigy?”

“Master Zhou, I won’t waste any more time chattering with you. We’ll spar another day. But you should keep a close eye on your young friend here; I sense he is on the verge of being possessed!” With that, the man let out a wild laugh, turned, placed his hands behind his back, and slowly departed.

Zhou Huan pondered this. He had already noticed that Dongzi had recently developed an uncharacteristic infatuation with a girl and had become overly confident in himself. Zhou Huan watched the youth walk away, hands clasped behind his back, then looked down at the card in his hand. Engraved upon it were the words: Wutai Mountain Lay Disciple—Funeral Master—Li Tianxiong!

“Hmph!” Zhou Huan offered a faint smile, crumpled Li Tianxiong’s card, and tossed it aside before turning to enter the house. He locked the door, closed his eyes on the bed, and instantly, it was the next morning. He sprang from the mattress and rushed into Dongzi’s room, slapping him squarely on the shoulder. “Up, up! We’re seeing Old Song off. Hurry, now!”

Dongzi squinted, stretching widely. “Brother, wait for me a minute. I’m so sleepy; I hate getting up so early!”

“Get up! We’re sending off Old Song and Guo Hua. After today, we’ll have to wait another month for such an auspicious day.”

“Oh!” Dongzi agreed, got up, and dressed. He followed Zhou Huan to carry the prepared items out to the door. To their surprise, Mr. Wang had already sent people to wait outside, ready to accompany Zhou Huan and Dongzi for Old Song’s final journey.

Mr. Wang had clearly spared no effort this time; he must have truly followed Zhou Huan’s instructions. Leading the procession was a Mercedes hearse, followed by a three-ton truck, and then a motorcade of more than a dozen black sedans.

“Master Zhou, what items should we help you carry?” A leader among Mr. Wang’s men, accompanied by several others, approached Zhou Huan and took the items from him and Dongzi.

Zhou Huan surveyed the convoy, paused for a beat, and said, “Come on. The paper offerings inside are all for this ceremony. And most importantly, do not forget the paper banner by the door; set it up right in the middle of the truck bed.”

“Understood!” The man turned and shouted, “Let’s go, let’s get moving! Don’t damage anything; handle everything with extreme care!”

Immediately after, Mr. Wang alighted from the lead car. Through the gap created by the opening door, Zhou Huan could vaguely see Wang Qiang inside, clutching a bouquet of flowers, his expression dull and listless, saliva occasionally dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Mr. Wang walked slowly over to Zhou Huan. “Master Zhou Shou, when do we depart?”

“Right now!”

Mr. Wang directed Zhou Huan and Dongzi to a car behind the hearse. In moments, Mr. Wang’s men had loaded all of Zhou Huan’s preparations onto the vehicles. Following Zhou Huan’s prior arrangement, the lead car was adorned with a large, white silk ribbon flower with black trim fixed to the front. Before setting off, the dozen or so cars sounded their horns in unison for one full minute. Then, the convoy slowly rolled toward the Garden Cemetery.

Zhou Huan had spent nearly a week preparing for this ceremony. Earlier that morning, Mr. Wang had retrieved Old Song’s ashes on Zhou Huan’s behalf, and following Zhou Huan’s instructions, the ashes were placed into a ceremonial urn rather than a standard box. The urn was a top-grade porcelain vessel rushed by Mr. Wang from Jingdezhen. The urn was then wrapped in a piece of red cloth and placed inside a specially made small wooden casket in Zhou Huan’s car. This casket was inlaid with small crystals and bordered with exquisitely hand-carved classical patterns—the craftsmanship was flawless.

The long funeral procession slowly entered the Garden Cemetery. Upon reaching the parking area, cemetery staff had already prepared a site for them. Following Zhou Huan’s direction, a modest altar was erected. In front of the altar was a large fire basin, about two meters in diameter. The altar itself held vegetarian offerings, fruits, an incense burner, and candles. Mr. Wang’s men formed two neat lines on either side.

Zhou Huan personally placed the spirit tablets he had inscribed for Old Song and Guo Hua onto the altar; Dongzi also set his mother’s spirit tablet beside the main platform. Mr. Wang’s subordinates unloaded everything brought from the shroud shop, and Zhou Huan busied himself arranging these items in the proper sequence.

On either side of the altar stood the Paper Boy and Paper Girl, the boy to the left and the girl to the right. Behind the Paper Boy, the paper banner that had been brought was planted upright. A large paper horse-drawn carriage was positioned on the small path outside the altar. Behind the large fire basin sat a rectangular water trough intended to hold fresh flowers, and further back was a cushion—prepared for Zhou Huan to chant sutras and incantations upon. Around the fire basin, Zhou Huan used burnt paper ingots to lay out a Ba Gua array, then he tossed a large sack of joss paper money to one side and drew a circle.

Everything was set. Zhou Huan frequently checked the time on his phone; the seconds ticked by relentlessly.

Dongzi was unusually subdued today, completely silent, a stark contrast to his usual self. He simply stood quietly beside Zhou Huan.

“Well, what an impressive turnout!” A young man dressed in traditional cloth attire stepped out from the crowd of mourners. Zhou Huan focused his gaze—it was Li Tianxiong from last night.

Zhou Huan stood up and walked over to the young man, beckoning him. “Come, come!” Li Tianxiong leaned in close, and Zhou Huan said, “Young man, do not cause trouble today. We’ll have plenty of time for a spar.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not one to disrupt things frivolously. I’m just extremely interested in funeral rites. But I notice you haven't even written a single couplet or eulogy. Is this the style of Great Master Zhou Shou?” The arrogance in Li Tianxiong’s tone was instantly irritating.

Zhou Huan gave a cold laugh, ignoring Li Tianxiong, casting only a sharp glance his way before returning to the Ba Gua array. He gestured for Dongzi, who rushed to his side. Zhou Huan leaned in and whispered, “Bring the ink and brushes we brought. I need to write the memorial couplet.”

For some reason, Dongzi had managed to strike up a rapport with Mr. Wang’s staff. When Zhou Huan gave the order, Dongzi turned and beckoned; two of Mr. Wang’s men promptly brought forth a roll of Xuan paper and a bag containing brushes and ink, handing them to Dongzi, who then passed them to Zhou Huan.

Zhou Huan casually spread the paper, raised his brush, and inscribed several large characters: “Harmony Reincarnates!” At the bottom, he signed his name. These characters were executed with incredible flair—a true display of artistry—radiating an atmosphere of serene elegance, rivaling the masterpieces of calligraphy masters.

After Zhou Huan finished writing, everyone present was stunned, none having expected Zhou Huan to possess such mastery of script.

As Zhou Huan prepared, acquaintances familiar with Old Song began to arrive, and gradually, the line of mourners grew larger again.

Following custom, Zhou Huan burned all the paper goods and offerings he had brought, finally burning the joss paper ingots tossed to the side. He chanted aloud, “To the spirits of the underworld who have come to pay respects, accept this wealth as your travel fare!”

Then, Zhou Huan gently lowered Old Song’s ashes into the grave, murmuring as they descended, “Zixuan, Guo Hua, today you are laid to rest together. I hope Old Song can successfully guide Guo Hua toward reincarnation. Today, I also want to tell Zixuan one thing: I will not cast you out of the sect. Go in peace!” As he spoke, the crystals on the wooden box in Zhou Huan’s hand began to emit a faint, blood-red light, which slowly dissipated into the air.

Li Tianxiong laughed from the side. “Great Master, what use is that thing you wrote? Let me do it!” He spoke with wild arrogance and moved with incredible speed. He rushed up to Zhou Huan, snatched the Xuan paper in one hand, and seized a brush in the other, beginning to write. His hands swept through the air as if dancing, left stroke, right stroke, and two lines of large characters appeared on the paper: “Gold and silver horses of fortune are sent to accompany you; the Great Dao leads the way to the treasured residence!” Li Tianxiong finished, then read the lines aloud to himself.

Hah! These characters were also meticulously written, carrying a profound atmosphere—a different kind of art, imbued with a sense of unrestrained arrogance, an unbounded self-assurance in every stroke.

Zhou Huan’s gaze turned intensely serious, his tone becoming utterly cold. “Young man, on behalf of the deceased, I thank you for your kind offer, but whether they accept your writing remains to be seen.”

As he finished speaking, the blood-red energy emanating from the wooden box in Zhou Huan’s hands seemed to freeze suddenly, and the color of the crystals on the box began to dim.

Li Tianxiong was an expert in this realm. Seeing the change in the wooden box, he understood that the deceased disliked his couplet and sought a graceful exit. He managed a strained smile. “Hmph! Foolish ghost, misguided man! This couplet is a gift for the lonely wandering spirits!” With that, he threw down his couplet, turned, moved through the crowd, and departed swiftly.

Zhou Huan watched Li Tianxiong leave, offered a faint smile, and continued with the ceremony.