The rain in Li Tian City, falling and ceasing intermittently, bore the atmosphere of a plum rain season. And this day was the funeral of the Jingnan Marquise. With barely any special arrangents, it seed a bit too simple, even on an official level. However, this "quietness" was rely superficial; it did not an the event lacked significance.
Without prior notifications or organized assemblies, residents and business owners spontaneously set up incense tables in front of their hos wherever the funeral procession passed through the streets of Li Tian City.
As the white-clad funeral procession passed, the common folk lining the streets started burning joss paper and lighting candles, whole families bowing down in respect. So people began to cry, and then slowly, many others joined them.
Years later, if Yan still existed as the rightful power, Historians or local chroniclers might describe a scene from this day. They would portray the Jingnan Marquise as gentle, virtuous, and loving the people as her own children, emphasizing her role in strengthening ethnic integration between the Yan and Jin lands. At her passing, spontaneous mourning by the people of Jin swept across dozens of miles, leaving a deep impression.
But in reality, for most of Li Tian City's citizens, their tears weren't feigned. These cries, however, did not stem from sorrow. Instead, they were tears of overwhelming relief as the anxiety and unease that had gripped them finally dispersed with this funeral procession.
The previous oppression had left everyone breathless, worrying about the Yan people's retaliation and fearing the Southern Marquis of Yan would act rashly out of anger for his beloved. After long suppression, once released, the uncontrollable emotions were only natural.
The funeral had taken place, mourning rites had been conducted, and the casket had been sealed. To most, things were progressing as they should, which was a positive developnt. Everyone's life could seemingly go back to normal.
On the day of the funeral, the Jingnan Army, freshly returned from their campaign, also hurried to Li Tian City. The clouds of dust swirling around them told of the fatigue from their long expedition. But, it seed like everything had been settled.
The four commanding officers of the Jingnan Army, returning from the expedition, dismounted their horses to personally carry the coffin, giving their late mistress one final honor. The remaining soldiers, still exuding a murderous aura, raised their sabers, lining the streets from the city gates.
The Marquise, while praying for the Lord's blessings on the mountain, was overco by her deep worries, triggering a heart condition, and died without treatnt. This was the official explanation. It didn't really matter how many people believed it or sought to understand the actual truth.
The fire on Tianhu Mountain smoldered for two days. No one yet dared to count how many Taoists had perished.
So much had happened in such a short ti. Most people, swept away by the tide of events, had no capacity to concern themselves with anything else.
Interestingly, a large group of envoys, initially dispatched by their masters to congratulate Lord Jingnan on the birth of his son, ended up participating in this funeral. Joyful occasions had turned into somber ones, making one lant the unpredictability of life.
And the great political upheaval that initially seed poised to erupt, even after setting the stage for an imminent storm, vanished without a trace in an eerily capricious fashion.
It greatly resembled the weather of Li Tian City at this mont, alternating between clear skies and pouring rain, completely unpredictable.
「...」
「At night.」
「In the inn.」
Zheng Fan, his left arm still bandaged in white, quietly drank tea. A man entered from outside, bowed to Zheng Fan, and said apologetically, "I am late and have kept Lord Zheng waiting. I beg your forgiveness."
Zheng Fan nodded, saying nothing.
Master Zhang carefully sat down opposite Zheng Fan and poured himself a cup of tea. He drank it in one gulp, poured another, sighed, and then said, "There's been too much happening today."
Zheng Fan put his teacup on the table. His mood wasn't good today, so he did not bother with flattery or courtesy.
Master Zhang could only sigh inwardly. He rembered when Zheng Fan, having risked everything to save the Sixth Prince, was like soone who had successfully latched onto a powerful connection. Back then, Zheng Fan had been respectful not only to the Sixth Prince but even to him. But now, his wings had hardened. Heh.
Of course, Master Zhang knew Zheng Fan truly had the capability to soar. Setting aside Lord Jingnan's high regard for him, Zheng Fan himself was outstanding. His military achievents were nurous. For soone with such talent and proven ability, it would be difficult not to rise quickly given the chance.
In contrast, his own master had been suppressed and battered by the Emperor for the past six months. Disregarding the few hidden resources they still possessed, his master's prospects seed to be dwindling, forming a stark contrast to Chief Zheng's clear upward trajectory.
"Lord Zheng, my master, the Sixth Prince, misses you very much."
"COUGH. COUGH..."
Zheng Fan felt like he was coming down with a cold. Ordinarily, his constitution was excellent. As a Martial Cultivator, it would be embarrassing not to have robust health. However, after nearly six months on campaign, followed by a long, hurried journey back to Li Tian City, and then being exposed to this wretched weather, it was hardly surprising that he'd catch a cold.
"I also miss the Prince very much, Master Zhang. How has he been recently?"
"Not very good."
"Oh."
"Lord Zheng, as of now, my master can't provide much help to you anymore."
Back when Lord Zheng was just starting out, the Prince had provided castles, grain, warhorses, and armants. But now, with their fortunes reversed, even if the Sixth Prince wanted to offer more support, there was little left to give. After all, even the cleverest housewife can't cook without rice.
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