“Sigh…”

The old Daoist patted his forehead, then simply sat down on the ground.

He had traveled north and south for most of his life, and had dealt with countless people. His experience could be described as extremely rich.

He hadn't thought of this before, but now that his boss reminded him, it dawned on him.

There was no crying, nor too much grief, only deep helplessness.

This world never lacks heroes who are pushed to the forefront. Everyone wants to be glamorous, enjoy unlimited glory, and be worshipped;

However,

what’s even more difficult

are these heroes hidden behind the scenes,

without the motivation of profit, nor the promotion of fame;

"When a man dies, his bird faces the sky," "In twenty years, I'll still be a good man." Perhaps these so-called heroes would shout these slogans and then go down to fight desperately, at least hypnotizing themselves with a "grand" feeling.

Unlike now,

unlike what's happening before my eyes.

"Poor child, only in his twenties."

The old Daoist sighed softly.

Zhou Ze continued to stand there, not getting into the car to leave as he had originally planned.

The two rows of anti-narcotics police stood in front of the mourning hall for a long time, no one crying, everyone silent.

Zhou Ze remembered that when he went to Yunnan for a surgical training, he heard an old doctor from a local city tell such a story.

A local anti-narcotics policeman, while disguised as a buyer to contact drug dealers, happened to meet his mother-in-law on the street, who was out shopping with his daughter. The daughter called out "Daddy."

Then,

three days later,

the whole family was buried in a gas explosion.

The old doctor said that he participated in the rescue that time, but failed to save anyone, which was one of the greatest pains in his life.

Enduring the contempt and neglect of relatives and neighbors,

the glory and martyr's honor that must be hidden,

the person is gone, but the living must continue to endure this loneliness and lack of understanding.

Zhou Ze silently bent down.

He remembered that just now, he had asked the woman how her husband died.

She said that her husband was a driver who died in a car accident.

Zhou Ze now understood her hesitation when answering that question.

This feeling

was like a child getting a perfect score but not being able to tell his parents to receive praise,

and having to deliberately say that he didn't do well in the exam, thus having to endure criticism.

The old woman, at this moment, became much more adorable and much greater.

She would rather continue to endure this kind of life alone, but hoped to give her daughter-in-law a release,

even,

her going to the county to accuse her own uncle of corruption,

became understandable,

a mother who could raise such a great son must also be great.

"Fall in!"

The two rows of people bowed together to the old woman and the woman.

The old woman, with her daughter-in-law and granddaughter, knelt on the futon to return the salute.

The old woman was in tears,

the woman sobbed uncontrollably,

and the granddaughter seemed a little ignorant, unable to understand why these people came to her home.

Perhaps,

this family,

only at this time,

in this unknown late night,

could truly enjoy a moment of the glory that should have belonged to them.

They came and went in a hurry, all got into the van, and quickly drove away.

Coming quietly, and leaving just as quietly,

being as careful as possible,

without leaving any trace.

The three women

hugged each other

and cried together.

The youngest girl cried too, because she saw her mother and grandmother crying.

But their cries were also somewhat suppressed at this time. Tears and snot dripped non-stop, but there was no wailing sound.

"Boss, you go back and rest first. I'll stay and help them with the arrangements."

The old Daoist scratched his hair and continued calmly:

"Funerals are more particular about liveliness than weddings. It's for the living to see, to comfort the living. Seeing them so desolate, I feel really bad."

Zhou Ze stretched.

He said:

"What's the point of you staying alone? Suddenly, a warm-hearted old man appears, and new gossip will spread."

"Boss, this..."

Zhou Ze shook his head.

"I'll stay too. Just consider it as the funeral being paid for by this rich wild man;

Anyway, the old woman already put the hat on my head during the day,

so I'll just wear it for a while longer."

…………

The next day at noon,

three funeral bands entered the scene.

In front of the mourning hall,

a monk was on the left, and a Daoist priest was on the right.

Drums and gongs were beaten, sutras were chanted, and wooden fish were struck.

It was bustling and lively.

The people were all invited by the old Daoist, and he also negotiated and paid the price. He had been busy from morning to noon, rearranging the venue, arranging personnel, and directing and managing every aspect in an orderly manner.

The old Daoist's talent in this area was indeed admirable. He seemed to be born for funerals.

The old woman and her daughter-in-law, dressed in sackcloth, knelt on the futon, not having to worry about anything else.

Zhou Ze sat at the offering table in front of the mourning hall, with a red ledger in front of him for recording condolence gifts.

Although no one came to help yesterday, quite a few relatives still showed up today on the day of the official funeral. No one was really short of the condolence money that should be given.

It was not good to be on bad terms, but Chinese people paid attention to reciprocity, which was a real rule. If you deliberately cut off the condolence money because of this excuse, you would be poked in the spine.

Zhou Ze took a pen and wrote down each name, a few hundred from this one, a few hundred from that one, how much paper this one gave, and how many incense candles that one added, all of which had to be recorded clearly.

Fortunately, it wasn't too busy, and everyone was very indifferent. Zhou Ze even saw many people pointing and whispering at him. Boss Zhou didn't care anyway.

Every once in a while, Zhou Ze would take a few chocolates or make some brown sugar water with boiling water and send it to the woman to drink, watching her drink it, and then sit back in his place.

The funeral was held very grandly and lively.

When it was almost noon,

her uncle also came.

He had been removed from his position as village chief, fined, and had also spent some time in jail, but at this time, he still looked like a "local emperor."

In fact, in many rural areas nowadays, the difference between a village chief and a village bully is really not that big.

However, he didn't have any other opinions about Zhou Ze, a stranger, sitting here. The condolence money he gave was also the highest here. Others gave just a few hundred, but he gave twenty thousand.

Zhou Ze was a little surprised when he registered it, wondering if he should report this old man again tomorrow?

It seemed that he hadn't been shaken clean last time.

"They are orphans and widows, and it's not easy. I don't know who you are, but since you are willing to help, I appreciate your kindness, and I thank you too."

The old man's back was a little hunched, and his gaze still carried anger when he swept towards the old woman kneeling there, but at least in some things, one thing was one thing.

The old man came, gave the money, and left. The other relatives all stayed, and then there was a water banquet for lunch.

After the water banquet,

the process continued.

Under the arrangement of the old Daoist,

monks and Daoist priests took turns on stage.

One sang, then the other took their turn.

It had to be said,

it wasn't noisy at all,

but instead, it seemed very solemn and dignified.

Everything that needed to be registered was registered. Zhou Ze added his own name to the condolence book, and the condolence gift written on it was:

Two stacks of ghost money.

He took some time to stand in front of the iron pot where paper money was being burned,

and personally threw the ghost money into it,

watching them be burned clean here,

and then sat back in his place in the mourning hall.

He touched his pocket. He was out of cigarettes. He casually took a pack of cigarettes from the table, opened it, and took out a cigarette to light.

These cigarettes were for those who gave condolence gifts, one pack per person, which was also a local custom. Those who didn't smoke would take them home for the people in their family who did smoke.

Having lived two lives, this was Zhou Ze's first time seriously participating in an authentic and simple funeral.

In his previous life, he was an orphan and didn't have any funerals to attend. When colleagues in the hospital passed away, he would just show his face at the memorial hall, which was almost like signing in.

Now,

sitting here and watching the funeral activities for most of the day,

he actually found it quite interesting.

Perhaps, when he was young and frivolous, he always felt that this was feudalism, ignorance, and an incomprehensible absurd act.

When people reach middle age, and old people in the family really start to pass away, they suddenly realize that having these rules and these things allows them to at least know what they should do next in those chaotic days, and allows them to move.

When they are older, or more mature,

sitting here,

watching the flying paper scraps,

listening to the noisy suona horns and the white clothes,

they will suddenly realize,

that this seems to be the unchanging color of this land under their feet for thousands of years.

The funeral home sent the largest and most luxurious hearse, followed by more than a dozen cars, all wearing white flowers.

The woman held a portrait of her deceased husband, her mother-in-law by her side, her daughter in front of her, leading a group of relatives who were sending off the deceased, as well as the monks and Daoist priests arranged by the old Daoist, and got into the car to go to the crematorium.

The mourning hall behind Zhou Ze was finally empty.

The noise in front of him

finally came to a brief stop.

Zhou Ze turned his head and looked to his side. Because his identity could not be made public, no one or any unit sent wreaths.

There were only two wreaths here.

One was sent in the name of the bookstore, and the other was sent in the name of the pharmacy next door to the bookstore.

They were placed in the corner as a little decoration.

If his identity could be made public, this place would probably be filled with wreaths from all walks of life.

Zhou Ze crossed his legs

and sat on the bench.

*snap!*

The lighter lit another cigarette.

He took a puff

and slowly exhaled a smoke ring.

He didn't know why,

but today,

his heart was particularly calm.

In the time since he returned from Sichuan, there had been many things and a lot of chaos. Just as he finished dealing with one thing, another happened, making Zhou Ze feel very tired and worn out.

But precisely on this noisy day,

the previous impetuousness seemed to be cleared away all at once, and his whole person felt as if he had been washed by rain, very clean.

The hand holding the cigarette

was sent to his side.

A young man took the cigarette from Zhou Ze's hand

and also took a puff.

Zhou Ze looked ahead

and said very calmly:

"Don't misunderstand."

The other person exhaled a smoke ring.

"Thank you for your trouble."

Zhou Ze smiled

and said:

"You're welcome."