Qingming arrived with thin rain.
Not enough to soak clothes, just enough to cling to stone and earth, leaving everything darker than usual. The cemetery rested on the hillside in layers of gray, incense smoke curling faintly in the damp air.
Gu Ze Yan stepped out of the car first.
Black coat. No emblem. No excess. He looked like someone who had done this many times before—because he had.
Lin Qing Yun followed, a half step behind him. She wore muted colors, respectful, simple. Nothing that announced her presence. Nothing that tried to claim a place that wasn't hers.
They walked in silence.
No hands held. No exchanged glances. This wasn't a day for comfort.
Grandpa Zhao's grave lay higher than most. Stone clean. Name carved deeply. Someone had taken care of it well.
Ze Yan stopped in front of it.
He bent down, brushed away wet leaves with bare hands, movements steady and practiced. Replaced incense. Straightened offerings. Then he stood upright and bowed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Perfect form. Perfect distance.
Qing Yun remained behind him. She didn't step forward. She didn't bow. She didn't pretend to be family.
She remembered the man buried here.
Grandpa Zhao had never raised his voice at Ze Yan. Never humiliated him. Never openly rejected him.
He simply never acknowledged him.
A silence colder than anger.
Ze Yan lit the incense, placed it carefully, then stepped back. His expression didn't change. If there was anything stirring beneath, it didn't show.
Footsteps approached from the path below.
The Zhao brothers arrived.
They were dressed appropriately, faces composed. They nodded to the grave first. Then, briefly, to Qing Yun.
Polite. Distant.
They did not look at Ze Yan.
Not even once.
They spoke quietly among themselves, discussing arrangements, timing, weather. One of them adjusted an offering slightly, as if correcting something that didn't belong.
Ze Yan stood where he was.
He neither moved closer nor stepped away.
Qing Yun watched him from the corner of her eye.
Hostility could have been answered.
Indifference couldn't.
After a few minutes, the brothers finished. One of them glanced in Qing Yun's direction again, offered a minimal nod. Then they turned and left, coats brushing past Ze Yan as if he were part of the background.
When they were gone, the air felt emptier.
Not lighter. Just thinner.
Ming Liang arrived late.
Qing Yun noticed it immediately—not the lateness, but the way he walked. Slower. Slightly unsteady. His frame seemed narrower inside his coat, as if time had quietly taken more than it announced.
He greeted the grave first. Then Ze Yan.
A nod. Nothing more.
After the formalities, Ming Liang gestured subtly.
"Walk with me."
Ze Yan followed him down a narrow path, away from the graves. Qing Yun did not move. She understood without being told.
They stopped beneath a bare-branched tree.
Ming Liang spoke without preamble.
"My health isn't what it used to be."
Ze Yan didn't respond. He listened.
"Nothing urgent," Ming Liang continued. "But age doesn't negotiate."
He turned slightly, gaze toward the city below the hill. "The board is changing."
Ze Yan's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Your brothers have more influence now," Ming Liang said. "They won't rush. They'll wait."
"For what?" Ze Yan asked.
"For you to make a mistake."
There was no accusation in Ming Liang's voice. Only fact.
"I won't be there forever," Ming Liang continued. "When I step back, there will be no buffer."
Ze Yan nodded once. "I know."
Ming Liang studied him for a long moment.
"You've always known how to stand alone," he said. "Just don't mistake isolation for strength."
Ze Yan met his gaze evenly. "I won't."
That was the end of the conversation.
No reassurance. No promise.
When they returned, Qing Yun was still standing where she had been. She didn't ask anything. She read everything in the way Ming Liang avoided her eyes as he left.
The Zhao brothers were already gone.
Ze Yan and Qing Yun walked back to the car together.
Only after the doors closed and the engine started did Qing Yun speak.
"You did everything right."
Ze Yan looked ahead. "That was never the question."
Rain tapped softly against the windshield as the car pulled away.
Qing Yun watched the cemetery recede behind them.
Some families were inherited.
Others were simply endured.