She kept heading over to the ledger room where the monetary gifts were being collected, glancing over again and again.

When the old woman, now dressed in the clothes she had prepared herself, with her belongings placed inside the large, bright red coffin, Cheng Ying simply wouldn't let go of her hand.

Yang Zhi, hugging her daughter tight, could barely hold on. “Your grandmother passed peacefully; you can’t cry like this.”

Cheng Ying knew then that it didn't matter if they shared blood; their bond was genuinely emotional—true tears, a kinship where one genuinely couldn't bear to be apart. At least, this grief was deeper than the tears shed during the New Year holidays for her father.

She hadn't expected such sorrow. Cheng Ying considered herself philosophical about life, old age, sickness, and death, having experienced death once herself. But now, it was different; she couldn't reconcile herself to the death of her own family member.

The Chi family was locally famous in the village, well-known in the township, and even recognized in the county seat. Thus, even if the old woman’s passing were to be a simple affair, it wouldn't be possible—not when Cheng Ying and Chi Wu had never intended anything less than a grand ceremony.

In the days leading up to it, Chi Wu had procured a complete set of stoves and cookware.

Things in the village were usually borrowed, but Chi Wu felt that since this event would last several days, they shouldn't constantly borrow pots and pans; he just bought a whole set outright.

As more people arrived, starting with those from the township, it was no longer just the village. Cheng Ying, despite being in the provincial capital, had contributed greatly to the township; she had contracted for the majority of the forest farms there. The county's current prosperity wasn't without reason—those who lead the masses to wealth are always held in high regard.

It was said that Chi Wu had left the village with registered household status, while Cheng Ying had left by passing academic examinations. Therefore, even while grieving, Cheng Ying had to stand beside Chi Wu to greet guests. This was an honor.

Even the village head had said, "These are guests we couldn't even invite; how hard is it to have the leadership remember our village? No matter how sad you are, you must greet the guests."

She remained a prime example to encourage the younger generation to study. Look, now that you are successful, even your family's passing brings prestige.

This was only the case now; otherwise, the old woman would simply be addressed as Lao Fengjun (an honorary title for an elderly, respected woman).

If it weren't for the old woman's death, Cheng Ying would have felt that her years of struggle had, from this perspective, received affirmation—that she had been quite successful. But at this moment, Cheng Ying couldn't think that far ahead; her heart ached, and all she could focus on was that she would never see the old woman again.

When evening came, her elder uncle and second uncle saw Cheng Ying’s state, and the two of them kicked Chi Wu out.

They stayed to keep vigil for the old woman alongside Chi Yong and the other two brothers.

Chi Wu argued that he was the one brought in to uphold the family line and couldn't leave, but his elder uncle shut him down with a single retort, sending him off to look after his wife without a single word of protest.

The elder uncle stated, "You were married in to uphold the line for the third brother, and the old woman's sons aren't all gone yet; you don't need to stand guard here."

Chi Wu felt a significant easing of tension. Wasn't that right? Initially, only Cheng Ying and Chi Wu had attended to the old woman when she was alive, as she lived with them. But now that she was gone, wouldn't her sons naturally perform the vigil? Him, as a grandson, getting involved felt less appropriate than the sons taking charge.

He should listen to advice, especially since his own wife was truly in a terrible state. Fortunately, their two youngest children were no longer nursing; otherwise, the mother and three children would have all suffered together.

Chi Wu emerged from the mourning tent. Instead of immediately checking on his wife, he first went to see his godmother to check on his son and daughter. Thankfully, Chi Wu's own mother had come and was helping care for them, which put Chi Wu’s mind at ease before he went to find his wife.

Cheng Ying was crying so hard her voice was gone, hoarse and barely audible. “Are the arrangements settled? Should you go greet the people from the provincial capital?”

Chi Wu genuinely didn't want to hear Yingzi speak; every word was painful to him. Was that even a human voice? Like sand mixed in? “Stop talking, just listen to me. Don't worry, everything is arranged. They have all been placed in the homes of villagers; the village head organized it, so you can relax.”

Cheng Ying nodded, pleased that the guests were being well-treated. Since they came from so far away, it proved they cared, and such favors needed to be remembered for future obligations. “Make sure you keep the accounting books well; we’ll need to repay these favors later.”

Chi Wu looked at his wife. “Stop talking. You still have the presence of mind to think about that? You’re not sad anymore?”

Cheng Ying's face immediately changed. “If Grandma were still here, she would definitely tell me to handle this first, and then think about favors later. Now that she’s gone, who will look out for me?”

Chi Wu thought, It’s not like she just vanished. The doctor warned us years ago. Besides, didn't the old woman give you an extra half-month buffer before she finally passed? Why haven't you processed that yet? “Alright, aren't you still here? You still have the children. Let Grandma rest easier.”

This part Cheng Ying could actually absorb. The old woman often taught her that one shouldn't panic when facing trouble but needed to be clear-headed during crucial moments. Cheng Ying continued, “When she was well, we even discussed this. We had no taboos then, just chatting nonsense with her. Now it’s real, and I can’t accept it. Is it possible that if I hadn't sent the children to school, she wouldn't have been exhausted?”

Her long sentence trailed off into silence at the end. Chi Wu couldn't bear listening anymore; it was agonizing for her throat.

Chi Wu said, “It has nothing to do with that. When people get old, every organ starts failing; it was bound to happen sooner or later. She didn't suffer; her children saw her to the end, and she even saw her great-grandchildren. Go ask around the village; the old woman had a blessed life. I’ve personally mended our family bowls three times!”

Cheng Ying looked bewildered. “Why?” Aren't those things consumables? Once used, they are done.

Chi Wu explained, “The villagers say that an elder passing away like the old woman is a joyous occasion. Everything she owned carries blessings. Even chopsticks and bowls were taken by people with young children, saying it was to absorb some of that fortune.”

Cheng Ying blinked. There was indeed such a saying, but it still felt terrible. My own family member died, and you call it good fortune? It just didn't feel right. No one wanted this kind of blessing.

My own grandmother died. Cheng Ying was frustrated but couldn't take it out on anyone.

Chi Wu didn't know how to comfort his wife better; he was sad enough himself. A silence fell between them, partly because he just didn't want to hear Cheng Ying talk.

Cheng Ying suddenly broke the silence. “Oh right, I forgot to ask—what about those few fish and the old hen?”

Chi Wu replied, “They’re in the back courtyard. With so many people coming and going, Dry Uncle was worried they might get taken. Besides, we don’t keep such things out front. Close your eyes and rest; don't talk. I’ll stay with you.”

Cheng Ying couldn't stay still. “Take me to the back courtyard. Grandma cherished those things so much.”

Chi Wu thought, Is she planning to have them buried with the old woman? I haven't heard of that custom. Staring at his wife made him feel uneasy; this was too unconventional, genuinely unsettling.

Cheng Ying noticed his expression. “What are you looking at? Those are the memories Grandma left me. That tiger skin was part of my dowry, left by my father.”

Chi Wu breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s late at night. We can look tomorrow; it’s fine.”

Cheng Ying shook her head. “Night is better for such business; how can I put them away during the day?”

Chi Wu led her away. “Fine, you are my ancestor.”

The couple embarked on a midnight visitation, though their guests were fish and a chicken.

The back courtyard held only a few items belonging to Cheng Ying. With no one around late at night, it was just the two of them. Chi Wu turned on the back courtyard lamp, and watched his wife stir something in a large vat—the fish in the vat simply vanished. Gone.

Then, he watched Cheng Ying lift the brightly colored hen, and the hen also disappeared.

Chi Wu thought it was somehow predictable—his wife should possess such abilities—yet it was also completely unexpected. He hadn't realized magic tricks could be this astonishing.

No matter how wide his imagination stretched, he never imagined such things existed in the world. Forgive Chi Wu; at most, he had only read a few Wuxia novels, never encountered cultivation literature.

It wasn't until Cheng Ying pulled at him, “Let’s go!”

Chi Wu thought he must be dreaming; it would have been better to remain ignorant. Why did I have to wake up?

No, I shouldn't have come out here. It would have been better to just let my wife bury that chicken and those fish.

This event—this realization—was too much for Chi Wu’s nerves. Cheng Ying practically dragged him into the room; he couldn't move his feet. It wasn't fear, but sheer shock.

Afterward, Chi Wu buried himself under the covers and slept, not asking a single question.

Cheng Ying asked, “Aren’t you going to ask?”

Chi Wu mumbled into the covers, “You let me sleep for a while. Maybe I’ll wake up and realize it was all fake, or perhaps I’ll have forgotten it all. Or maybe I fainted. Let’s talk when I wake up.”

Then Chi Wu slept; he had to sleep, or his brain wouldn't function.

Chi Wu concluded that the most likely explanation was sheer exhaustion; he had been mentally strained for days.

Cheng Ying felt that her spatial dimension might not be that significant after all; why else would Chi Wu not even bother to inquire? Was it truly that natural to him?

She longed to talk about it, but there was no one to listen. Bottling it up was quite uncomfortable.

Since she hadn't intended to hide it anyway, Cheng Ying directly entered her space. Of course, Chi Wu didn't see anything because he was sound asleep under the covers. Cheng Ying made such a bold move, yet no one appreciated it; grand vanishing acts were apparently out of fashion.

Cheng Ying eventually tossed a handful of pine nuts to the old hen inside the space and patted its tail feathers.

She turned and exited the space, sitting on the warm brick bed. Her husband hadn't moved at all. Was it really that ordinary? Cheng Ying decided she wouldn't bring up this topic with Chi Wu again.

She glanced at the old woman’s portrait and dozed off for a bit, hoping to dream of her grandmother.

Both husband and wife had good intentions before sleeping, but unfortunately, everything was gone by the time they woke up the next morning.

Cheng Ying didn't dream of the old woman, but Chi Wu knew that his wife's feat of making the chicken vanish the previous night was real, undeniably so. However, he could rationalize it; the basin of water that miraculously appeared over his head during the fire had been strange enough.

Furthermore, the water that later healed his scars, and their own fish—those were top-tier treasures. He’d never heard of anyone being able to trade for so many supreme goods. It’s not a big deal, he reasoned. Let’s focus on the funeral first.

This really wasn't the time to dwell on it. Moreover, Chi Wu genuinely felt that his wife possessing a small ability like this seemed almost expected, as if he had accepted it long ago, no matter how he looked at it.