Lord of the Desert

Chapter 178 The Funeral
March 26, Jinhaihong Mansion.

It was just after lunch time.

The gate of the shrine is opened.

Rows of coffins stayed inside for five days, and it was time for the funeral.

Hong Fan was dressed in plain white mourning clothes, and gathered with other coffin-carrying children from each courtyard.

"My father didn't close his eyes for the last two nights. He was busy until the sun went down yesterday afternoon, so he had some free time."

Hong Fu said, tightening the sandals on his feet.

"Counting those who died of serious injuries after the war, there were more than 500 dead, and the number of injured people tripled."

"After checking by the city defense department, at least [-] snakemen have been replaced. It's a big victory anyway."

Hong Fan sighed silently.

Jin Hai suffered heavy casualties in this battle, and before he heard the exact number, he already felt it.

Every family wears hemp, and every household wears filial piety.

There was not enough white cloth in the city for a while, and many people had to use gray cloth instead for funerals.

The two turned around the alley and saw Hong Sheng was already waiting outside the ancestral hall.

After nodding to each other, they entered together.

There are seventeen coffins placed in the courtyard, all of which were victims of the Hong family's three battles in defending the city.

Every Hong Fan has at least met face to face, but most of them are not familiar with each other.

As the most prosperous family in Jinhai, the Hong family's death rate in battle is not high.

As far as Hong Fan knew, half of the Wudangqi of the Li family had been lost this time.

In the middle of the courtyard of the ancestral hall is Hong Jian's own coffin.

The board is made of jujube wood, which is solid and heavy. It is said that it took the best master in Jinhai a month of work.

The sun, the moon and auspicious clouds are carved on the left and right, and it has been brushed back and forth five times with dozens of catties of tung oil.

This coffin was bought by Hong Fei for himself, but he didn't expect it to be used by Hong Jian first.

Soon the time was approaching, Hong Li, lame and leaning on a black cane, arranged for everyone to carry the coffin out of the ancestral hall.

Hong Fan and Hong Sheng were naturally at the head of the main coffin, followed by Hong Fu, Hong An and others.

The seventeen coffins arrived at the main gate of the Hong Mansion one by one.

Hong Jian’s main coffin was covered with an outer outer coffin here—the outer coffin was bought from Cui’s family, and the bottom was six inches thick, so it was extremely heavy.

Because it is too big and heavy, you can enter the gate of the mansion but not the gate of the ancestral hall, so you have to do it here.

The coffin is complete and ready to go out.

The main coffin was carried by 16 people to show the rules.

After that, each coffin holds six people.

Hong Fan stepped over the threshold, and the drums rang.

The hired mourning team also began to play.

There are people in the Hong family who are rich, but they only use martial arts to inherit the family. Even if the people are extremely sad, most of them can't squeeze out a few tears.

At the front of the team, along the way, there are "guiding envoys" who plant small triangular flags on both sides of the road, implying to guide the departed soul on the road.

Hong Fan watched these little envoys.

Many of them are half-grown children. Although they are serious about doing things, their eyes are confused, and they don't fully understand what happened.

Their parents are still there, like a curtain covering the real face of death.

The funeral procession went smoothly and left the city from the southeast gate.

Although the inner and outer coffins are heavy, the coffins are all carried by warriors, so there is no need to "over the shoulders".

The family tomb of the Hong family is in Taishan.

On the way alone, they met four waves of funeral processions returning to the city from Bie's family.

After more than half an hour, everyone turned around the first depression and entered the boundary of Mount Tai.

Today's clouds are heavy, and the sky seems to be covered with a layer of veil, which is quite gloomy.

Because of this, the hilltops are extraordinarily green.

As the terrain got higher, the team entered the valley and began to climb uphill, but their feet became stronger.

The mountain wind runs down the ridge from the northeast, stirring up waves on the sea of ​​trees.

The world is buzzing.

Hong Fan watched the wind, and saw it wandering from the forest leaves on the left to the sleeve of his mourning clothes, and then all the way to the grassy slope on the right.

The higher the mountain, the deeper the valley.

In comparison, the death of a person seems even more insignificant.

The sound of mourning gradually faded away.

The ancestral grave of the Hong family has arrived.

It is said to be a cemetery inherited from a large family, but compared to the cemetery of the previous life, there is no planning and infrastructure.

The place is half the size of a hill, and most of the graves are made of bricks.

Hong Fan's biological mother moved here a month ago, and the same is true.

The patriarchs of the past dynasties or those who have achieved success are nothing more than slightly taller, and the surrounding ground has been leveled and paved with stone slabs.

The burial pit to be used this time has been laid in advance, and its shape is slightly different.

Compared to the vastly different status of the seventeen deceased, their posthumous rituals are quite similar.

Spread two thin bamboos on the bottom of the tomb, slowly push the wooden coffin in, and then pull out the bottom.

Then the relatives put a long-burning lamp made of soybean oil inside, put some grains and pancakes, and finally hung a bronze mirror.

Then shovel the soil and turf to seal the hole.

The relatives came forward one by one, and each added a pinch of soil.

Joss candles, paper money, mourning, gifts...

Seventeen coffins were disposed of one after the other.

No matter how glamorous or downcast it was in the past, it is only a difference at this time.

After several rounds of practice, Hong Fan even felt that those who were buried first might be more satisfied.

Because everyone saluted too many times, it was inevitable that they would become formal and perfunctory.

Until the No.16 coffin was buried.

This time, it was Hong Ping, the patriarch's youngest son.

The inscription on the tombstone was carved by Hong Sheng.

Then he lit the incense candles with his own hands, and added yellow paper to the fire one by one.

Hong Fan stood five steps away, staring at the flames, and heard a difficult choking sound.

A few steps away, Hong Chenshi closed his eyes, was clutching his chest, and was on the verge of falling.

These few days she cried too much, when it came to the time of parting, she just felt short of breath and couldn't shed any tears.

"Madam, my condolences."

Hong Fan stepped forward to support her forearm, persuading her.

"Brother Fan."

Hong Chenshi opened his eyes and opened his mouth with difficulty.

"it's all my fault……"

"I shouldn't have listened to him in the first place. If I forced him to go to Xijing, how could this happen?"

She wailed, her face was bloodless, her lips trembling uncontrollably.

Hong Fan was silent.

The eloquence of the past is useless.

He suddenly remembered the wild boar that fell into the bottom of the boundless valley during the hunting meeting, and the conversation with Hong Ping, and then his heart darkened.

At this moment, Hong Fu beside him interrupted unexpectedly.

"Madam, I found Brother Ping's body in the corner of the city wall."

His voice was soft and steady, like forged steel.

"When I found him, his armor was rotten; I counted five cuts in his body."

"The one in the middle was about a foot long and split open his stomach."

Hong Chen turned around and stared at Hong Fu angrily.

But the latter stared at her stubbornly without giving in.

"Five wounds, madam."

"Everything is from the front, nothing from the back."

Hong Fu spoke very seriously.

Hong Chen was silent.

"Young master is kind."

I don't know who from the outside gave a thumbs up.

Then, the perfunctory Zhu Yiqi around also bowed to the grave one after another.

This time it came from the heart.

Yet Hong Chen took no solace in the men's reactions.

She pushed Hong Fan's arm away, squatted halfway in front of Hong Ping's grave, weeping.

It seemed that what was buried inside was not his son, but the rest of his life.

PS: At the end of the month, it is useless for everyone to keep the remaining monthly tickets, so give them all.

　After reading the chapters of several readers yesterday, I found that we have a cognitive difference that needs special explanation.

　　In this book, the protagonist's golden finger (Dragon Soul Tree) is not the highest, and it is not a concept with other imaginary systems.

　　I certainly understand the benefits of the system.

　　It is very convenient to arrange the rhythm, which can be used as a strong driving force for the plot, or provide a natural breaking point for the protagonist...

　　But the system also has negative effects.

　　Cheats with absolute regularity will make the world view playful, and make many efforts and achievements of the protagonist and supporting actors appear frivolous and stupid.

　　If the system is too strong, the story ceases to be a struggle of "people" and becomes a role-playing game of "systems".

　　So here I explain that Hong Fan's Fate Star and Dragon Soul Tree all have specific sources. Although they are high-ranking, they are not the highest, and there is no such thing as essentially crushing other alien gods.

　　In addition, there is another setting that has not been put on the table, and I feel that it is necessary to mention it here.

　　Life Star's vitality plunder has limitations in scope and power - there is no such thing as saying that a Martial Saint dies in front of Hong Fan, and he can rise to several high realms in a row.

　　Of course, this is actually conceivable, otherwise Ma Jingsha wouldn't have reached his innate peak in more than ten years.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)