The night was cool as water.
Inside the empty mourning hall, Song Yinjian wore a ritual robe as white as fresh snow. His expression was solemn, his posture straight, as ancient Daoist scripture flowed from his lips—steadily, reverently—offering deliverance for Zhang Xiaoli.
Her soul had long since scattered into the world. He knew that. Still, he wanted her to have peace on whatever road lay beyond.
Shenhe stood quietly to the side. Her exquisitely cold features showed little emotion, like an iceberg carved from frost. Yet in the depths of her ice-blue eyes, there was only Song Yinjian—his every movement reflected there, unwavering.
Near midnight, Keqing arrived after a full day of work. She lit a single stick of incense before the burner, bowed deeply, and waited nearby.
Before long, the lingering cadence of the scripture came to a gentle halt.
Song Yinjian exhaled, removed the robe, and folded it carefully. Then he lifted the prepared teacup from the table and took a slow sip.
The warmth soothed his throat—raw from hours of chanting—like a small mercy. Keqing stepped forward and looked him straight in the eye.
"Today Ningguang suddenly convened the Qixing. She announced the Lord of Geo's order: to rectify Liyue's usury, and to force Northland Bank to hand over the killer."
"Oh." Song Yinjian answered blandly, as if she'd told him the price of cabbage. Keqing frowned. "Boss Song… how did you know this would be the outcome?"
Song Yinjian didn't answer. He only looked at her with a half-smile that wasn't a smile at all. Keqing's temper flared. She shot him a glare.
"Once Zhang Xiaoli's funeral is finished, I'll take you to see the land on Mt. Tianheng." That was when Song Yinjian finally gave her the answer.
"Because Zhongli is Rex Lapis." His voice wasn't loud.
But to Keqing, it hit like thunder splitting open the earth.
Her eyes widened instantly, shock flooding her face. "You're saying Consultant Zhongli… is Rex Lapis? Th-that's impossible!"
Song Yinjian smiled and tossed the question back at her. "Do you think I'd joke about something like that?"
Keqing's mind raced through everything she'd experienced—every detail, every oddity, every moment that now made a terrifying amount of sense.
She drew in a sharp breath and asked, still stunned, "Then why would Rex Lapis go to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and work as a consultant?"
Song Yinjian shrugged. "How would I know what that old man's thinking?" "But you should keep this to yourself. Don't mention it to anyone." "Otherwise, that old bastard will come after me."
Keqing's expression sharpened with conviction. "If the Lord of Geo did this, it must have meaning."
Song Yinjian didn't bother replying.
He found a long wooden bench in the mourning hall, flopped down without ceremony, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Keqing looked at him for a long moment, then turned and left with light footsteps. The night passed without a word.
Only pale moonlight spilled over the mourning hall, as if guarding its quiet.
…
At dawn the next morning, Song Yinjian once again donned that immaculate white ritual robe and performed a simple farewell rite for Zhang Xiaoli.
When it was done, he built a pyre in the courtyard. With Shenhe, he gently lifted Zhang Xiaoli's body and laid her upon the stacked wood.
Song Yinjian let out a soft sigh.
"Life is bitter and long. May you find peace in your next." Then he summoned a talisman.
With a pulse of spiritual power, the flames surged high and swallowed her form.
After the cremation, Song Yinjian collected her ashes and placed them into an elegant urn. He'd briefly considered setting it beside Zhang Rong's.
Then he dismissed the thought.
Zhang Rong didn't deserve to be called a father.
So Song Yinjian took Zhang Xiaoli's ashes, rode the donkey cart to Mt. Tianheng, and chose a spot with decent scenery.
There, he buried her.
He didn't erect a gravestone. First—this "job" was already a loss.
Second—even if he did, it would mean nothing. No one would come to pay respects to a pitiful, laughable, lowly illegitimate daughter.
On the way back, the system's voice chimed in his mind.
"Ding. Congratulations, Host. You have sent off Zhang Xiaoli and helped uncover the truth of her death. Reward: 40 cultivation points."
Song Yinjian blinked, genuinely surprised. That stingy system gave him forty in one go? Was it because he'd helped uncover the truth? A thought struck him like a spark.
If he took more jobs like that—jobs tied to uncovering the truth—wouldn't his cultivation rise far faster?
At this pace, breaking into Foundation Establishment wasn't a dream— Even reaching the Golden Core realm might be within sight.
And once he formed a Golden Core, his lifespan would soar.
Then he could finally pursue his cold, otherworldly senior sister with full force.
The image of Shenhe's soft black stockings—paired with that frost-sculpted face—floated into his mind.
The corner of Song Yinjian's mouth lifted into a slightly lewd, very pleased grin.
Right as he sank deeper into his fantasies, Zhongli stepped in front of him—and calmly sat on the donkey cart.
The donkey, "Planning," let out a shrill protest.
"Boss Song," Zhongli said evenly, "I need to trouble you with something." Song Yinjian raised a brow. "What is it?"
"Your funeral?"
Zhongli's face went flat. "No."
"It's about another deceased friend of mine—True Lord Tongque. He fell in the Archon War long ago."
"As time passed, the temple once built to worship him has completely fallen to ruin." "And the last remaining wisp of his soul is about to disperse into heaven and earth." "I want you to hold a grand rite for him."
"Let the people of Liyue remember him again. Honor him. Worship him." "So he won't vanish entirely into the river of history."
Song Yinjian didn't answer.
He only rubbed his fingers together—and gave Zhongli the universally understood gesture. Money.
Zhongli fell silent for a moment, then asked carefully, "Then… should I send the bill to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor?"
Song Yinjian let out a dry laugh.
"Even if you sold Director Hu Tao, it still wouldn't be enough."