The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 22

Please forgive me if any of the details about Chinese funerals are incorrect. I mean no offense and will gladly change any or all of the details.

I tried to make it in keeping with current and ancient tradition while making some differences between Yunmeng and Gusu.

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The mist of late autumn gathers at the foot of the ancestral hall, with the twin peaks of the mountain behind rising up, as silent witnesses to the trio standing at the top of the long, steep steps.

The river flowed half hidden by the clouds of mist, to fill the vast pool below the hall, the bitterly cold air quiet with only the sound of the rushing water. There was no breeze, so the banners of mourning hung limply from the centuries old beams high above them. It was, as it should be, somber and quiet.

A dignified funeral for a venerable Elder, who demanded that the traditions and protocols of Gusu, be maintained at all times.

Most times, it was difficult to believe that Lan Ai had been a friend to his mother.

Her long years of dedicated service and diligence had earned her the highest respect and many, including Brother mourned her loss, with grief equal to her surviving daughters; Lan Bingqing, Lan Heng and Lan Peizhi. Lan Ai had raised several orphaned children in her time, but only these three had survived. They were all of them female cultivators of good repute and they married well with a few children between them.

Wei Ying would have no doubt have found it amusing, that despite living in Gusu for his entire life, except for the brutal months of battle during the Sunshot Campaign, he had never met any of them before today.

They arrived together, a trio in the traditional outer of robes of mourning, with the same pins he wore on his belt, denoting loss. Their spouses and children followed slowly behind, heads bowed as they ascended the steps ahead of the formal service. Their faces held little expression, but he thought them tired, the nights of vigil and the evenings of the funeral wake, wearing on them equally.

He had heard it said that the three surviving daughters of Lan Ai were not particularly liked by other female cultivators. The rumors that their positions had been secured by their mother's connections, rather than face the undignified process of assessment, followed them in whispers. It was unfortunate and he had little interest in such words. He had listened once to them, when there had been rumors one year, of Brother marrying Lan Bingqing's eldest daughter for an entire summer, he remembered.

The youngest one; Lan Peizhi was a decade older than he and Lan Heng's oldest child, was one of his contemporaries from his own student days. He knew little of Lan Gen, except that he had been an average student and had been punished several times as a youth for disobedience, at his own hand. It was fair to say, that Lan Gen had often avoided him, working as a Senior for a high-ranking Elder, a position than Lan Ai had secured.

He did not join night-hunts and simply spent his days writing correspondence and copying scripture. It was a safe, easy life one might say. Wei Ying would have found him strange.

He had alongside his brother and son, performed the three bows joss-sticks in hand. They had given their bow to Lan Ai's family before leaving the altar, Xichen remaining behind for a few minutes more, to offer the Sect Leader's prayer.

Gold eyes watched as a bird landed near the edge of the smaller pool, far below him where he stood immobile on the steps, waiting for the funeral procession. It was tradition, for those of the direct Lan descendants to wait on the steps for the pallbearers to pass, carrying the coffin. Lan An was said to have stood here where the cliffs fell away on the steep steps, into the waters below, beginning a tradition that has withstood the tests of time and grief.