That would practically cost him his old life.

According to folk legend, whatever clothes a person wore at the moment of their last breath would be the clothes they wore down in the netherworld. If someone passed away in tattered garments, they would be condemned to suffer the bitterness of bitter cold along the Yellow Springs road.

One had to wait until the forty-ninth day, after the final rites of the seven-seven period were completed, before rituals could be performed to dress the soul in burial garments.

Madame Ding had always been particularly meticulous about such customs.

Yunjiao and her aunts wept until they were nearly breathless. When she finally regained her composure, Old Madam Qian had already passed away. Lying with her eyes closed in peaceful serenity and dressed in her burial robes atop the coffin lid, she was gently lifted to be carried toward the front hall.

At the sight, Yunjiao burst into irrepressible tears once more. Jianjia and Muxin supported her from either side, weeping along with her.

Over yonder, directed by the chief undertaker, Qian Shu held a black umbrella high above Old Madam Qian's head.

Once a person died, their mortal remains could no longer see the light of the sun; this black umbrella was specially used to block out the sunlight. Even on an overcast day, an umbrella had to be held.

Pulled along by her aunts, Yunjiao accompanied them to the main hall. The sound of weeping echoed continuously along the way. Concubine Qian clutched her, tears streaming down her face: "Jiao'er, from now on, your auntie is someone with neither father nor mother..."

Yunjiao felt only a piercing grief within her heart, unable to utter a single word, leaving only tears to stream down relentlessly.

She was not fond of crying, nor had she ever wept with such agony. Yet now, she needed tears to vent the sorrow and bitterness in her heart, to relieve the wrenching pain of losing her dearest kin.

The maternal grandmother who had raised her single-handedly was truly gone. She would never appear before her again, would never guide her hands in embroidery, would never patiently reiterate that tears were the most useless thing of all, and would never again teach her how to endure or how to bide her time and wait for the right moment.

Whenever she thought of the days she had spent with her maternal grandmother in the past, it felt as though an invisible iron cable was tied around her heart; with every step she took, it pulled tight, sending dull pangs through her very viscera.

The front hall was already a scene of bustling activity. Two high stools supported the underside of the coffin lid. Old Madam Qian was placed against the wall on the right side of the hall, her head pointing south and her feet pointing north. A piece of cloud-shaped pastry was placed between her lips, and her face was covered with yellow straw paper. In front of her head stood a low table bearing an ever-burning lamp along with several dishes of offerings.

Qian Shihai, Madame Ding, and Qian Shilin were already dressed in coarse hemp mourning garb. Neighbors from the neighborhood, upon hearing the news, had all come to help, gathering around the tables to tear mourning cloth and sew burial garments.

The household servants dispersed in all directions to deliver the news to various relatives' homes. The chief undertaker, well-accustomed to this trade, took charge of the arrangements, and everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Now that all preparations were complete, they were merely waiting for the younger members of the family to assemble so they could burn the clear soup paper.

The burning of the clear soup paper was considered the final farewell to children and grandchildren. The deceased was placed in the exact center of the main hall's doors, facing south, with her feet resting upon a wicker sieve. Inside the sieve were placed branches of cypress and evergreen, symbolizing the blessing of prosperous descendants long after death, known as the "evergreen hundred descendants."

In front of the deceased was placed a square table bearing eight small dishes, cooked with only oil and no salt, briefly tossed in a hot wok.

Folk legend in the Dayuan Dynasty held that wandering souls had no need for salt and only consumed the rising steam.

Right in the center of the doorway to the main hall, a small, wide-mouthed urn would be placed—known as the ash urn, used specifically for burning spirit money. Most households with elderly members kept one prepared against the day of a death.

After the funeral rites for an elder were concluded, a portrait would be placed on the western end of the long table in the main hall.

For three years, the very first bowl of food from every single meal cooked in the kitchen would be scooped out, brought before the portrait, and preceded by burning spirit money in the ash urn to honor the ancestor first. This was known as serving meals.

Furthermore, within those three years, households in mourning were not allowed to paste up festive New Year money, nor could they set off firecrackers at their doorway.

Once the three years had passed, the family would steam tiny white flour mantous, scatter them before the grave for the neighbors to scramble for and divide, and then set off firecrackers. Only then was the mourning period considered lifted, an occasion known as Shangyin.

According custom during Shangyin, a large rooster would be brought along. If that rooster crowed while the firecrackers were being set off, it was regarded as an extremely auspicious omen, signifying the protection of the deceased and the future prosperity of the household.

When burning the clear soup paper, the younger generation of the family had to be fully present, kneeling quietly before the bier, holding willow branches in their hands, without making the slightest sound of weeping. Otherwise, the deceased would linger with attachments to the mortal realm and fail to depart in peace.

The Qian family relatives all resided in the imperial capital, and the journeys of the servants naturally delayed the hour. By the time the younger generations had nearly all arrived, it was already deep into the night.

Bai Yanhuan did not come in person, but instead dispatched Pingbu, a manservant often by his side, to deliver condolence money along with a bundle of spirit money.

This was entirely within Yunjiao's expectations. Her father cherished his own reputation far more than his life; how could he possibly appear here and give others cause for gossip?

Yet what Pingbu said next utterly exceeded Yunjiao's expectations.

"Ninth Young Mistress, may I have a moment of your time?" Pingbu walked up to her and bowed.

Yunjiao accompanied him out of the main hall, finding a quiet spot beneath the veranda, with Jianjia following close behind.

"Speak, what is it?" Yunjiao looked at Pingbu.

"Young Mistress," Pingbu stepped forward and lowered his voice, "Before I left, the master specifically instructed me to inform you that regarding the passing of Old Madam Qian, he will not be sending anyone to notify the eldest young master, and there is no need for the Young Mistress to make a fuss about it either.

"The master said: firstly, the journey is long, and having so many guests wait for the eldest young master would not be entirely appropriate.

"Secondly, with the New Year fast approaching, the academy is right in the middle of its examinations, and the master is afraid of delaying the eldest young master's studies.

"Therefore, he asks the Young Mistress to offer his apologies to Master Qian; there is no need to wait for the eldest young master here."

Hearing this, Yunjiao's pretty eyes widened in a surge of indignation. Her maternal grandmother had passed away, and by custom, the remains must lie in state at home for three days.

The academy where her elder brother studied was only a little over a day's journey from Laizhou. If someone had been dispatched early to deliver the message, traveling day and night, even if her brother missed burning the clear soup paper, he still could have arrived to see her one last time before her maternal grandmother was laid to rest.

Moreover, her brother had often been by their maternal grandmother's side during his childhood, and he valued affection above all else. If he knew of this, he would undoubtedly spare nothing to send their maternal grandmother off on her final journey. How could her father make such a rash decision on her brother's behalf?

When her brother returned and learned of this later, he would certainly not let the matter rest.

She clenched her fists, then relaxed them a moment later.

Was her father truly afraid of delaying her brother's studies? He was clearly being selfish and purely looking out for his own official career.

Her brother was now the family's only legitimate son, registered under the name of the household's legal wife. If her brother rushed back to attend their maternal grandmother's funeral, and busybodies caught sight of it and dug up that shameful affair of her father's from years ago, ruining his official prospects—wouldn't that quite literally cost him his old life?

Knowing that arguing with a mere manservant was useless, as he was only delivering a message, Yunjiao stood in silence for a long moment before nodding to signal him to withdraw.

She dearly wished to send Guyouzi to notify her brother, but Guyouzi was currently busy with her aunts' husbands purchasing and preparing funeral necessities and simply could not spare the time.

According to custom, such duties ought to have been fulfilled by Bai Yanhuan himself as a son-in-law, yet he had sent a servant in his stead. At this thought, Yunjiao's heart grew heavier with grief and resentment.

"Jianjia," she said after a brief pause, "go and inform Auntie about this."