In the cetery, snow fell slowly, "What are you doing here?" Su Ziceng, bumped into by Yan Wuxu, pretended to rub her arm and adopted a casual conversational tone.
Coming to the cetery, other than sweeping the graves, what else could one do? Su Ziceng knew her question was superfluous, but wasn’t Pello French, or at least his mother was from Mo City.
"A cat died at school, at the very edge of the cetery, there is also a pet cetery," Pello shook the cardboard box in his hand, about the size of the cat’s body.
"Where does Mo City have a pet cetery? It might not have one even after over a decade," even so, Su Ziceng didn’t plan to argue. Even if she was stubborn, she understood that lying and silence are basic human rights.
For the rest of the way, nobody spoke. Pello, like a guard, followed beside two sowhat frightened female students, providing a feeling of traversing together through the cetery. In the cetery, people from various eras lay, without exception, they all chose to rest in the black soil hidden beneath the snowy cover.
To so extent, people are born unequal, but in death, they are sowhat equal: the sa plot of land, a square tombstone.
After Su Ziceng explained her intentions, the manager brought out a book, according to the information recorded there, the last ti soone from the Qiao Family ca to sweep the graves was eight years ago. After paying the sweeping fees for the next five years, they lost contact after reportedly moving to Canada. The number left in the book is now unreachable.
Nevertheless, Su Ziceng still took down that number, the unwieldy combination of twenty-six English letters that made up the place and street nas, perhaps it could help in finding so information.
However, this trip was not in vain. Apart from asking the manager to refurbish her grandparents’ graves, Su Ziceng did indeed find out so news.
The cetery’s manager, a robust man in his sixties, has spent his entire life in Mo City and most of his life managing the cetery. Managing a cetery is a tedious job, rarely seeing the living. To quote the old manager, even if ghosts were willing to co out and chat with him, he would welco it.
So he talked a lot, and although rambling, the stories were quite useful, including tales of several old families in Mo City, involving the Wen family, the Qiu Family, and the Qiao Family.
"The Qiao Family wasn’t as wealthy and powerful as the first two families. The ancestors of the Qiao Family ca from a lineage of civil servants, and during the ti of revolutions, they even produced a Hanlin academician who had excellent calligraphy. The oldest plaque hanging in the Stone Temple is written by a Hanlin ancestor from the Qiao Family. Their family mainly produced scholars," the cetery manager continued, boiled a pot of fresh snow, and served the three people sitting in the hut.
The snow swept off the pine tree tops, after being drained and boiled, resulted in clear water with a taste of uncontaminated sweetness.
"The Qiao Family has always been modest in their dealings, possessing the pedantic temperant of scholars. The incident of Qiao Chu, the only daughter of the Qiao Family, running away with a poor young man, caused quite a stir in Mo City," the old manager spoke animatedly with the tea, as if he had been drinking, gesturing enthusiastically, "Back then, the Qiao Family’s old residence had not yet been sold to the Wen family. A whole house of servants and door guards rushed to Sixth District. If it weren’t for Qiao Chu desperately blocking them in front, today’s Su Family Chairman Su Qingzhang wouldn’t have had this day."
Qiao Chu’s health deteriorated due to the conflict and fright of that incident. The Qiao Family, heartbroken for their only daughter, finally compromised, but still refused to support Su Qingzhang, setting the condition that until he earned enough for a substantial dowry, he could not marry Qiao Chu.
"When did this happen?" Su Ziceng asked urgently, she vaguely knew so things, but hadn’t realized the grudge between her father and the Qiao Family was so deep.
"I’m old, I don’t quite rember, but it was about twenty years ago," the old manager described vividly, as if he had seen it with his own eyes.
"So the Su Family hadn’t made their fortune back then?" Even Yan Wuxu was listening with interest, not realizing that the composed middle-aged man also originated from Sixth District.
That Su Qingzhang had such a past love, maybe she and Ziceng’s mother looked very similar; otherwise, why would Su Qingzhang be so fond of her? Any woman would feel uncomfortable knowing she is just soone else’s substitute.
While leaving the cetery, Yan Wuxu was sowhat downcast, thinking of returning to the Su Family, and facing Su Qingzhang’s eager eyes made her hesitant. The dead often pose a more formidable challenge than the living. Qiao Chu, now deceased, was like a flawless goddess in Su Qingzhang’s heart, with no faults whatsoever.
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