"Was that man really a demonic cultivator?" Keqing asked once the crowd was gone, uncertain. Song Yinjian laughed softly and shot back, "You believe that?"
Keqing glared at him, furious. "Then you were lying to them!" Song Yinjian dug a finger into his ear, utterly unconcerned. "They're idiots."
"If I didn't scare them off, they'd still be worshiping that masked fraud like some divine lord." Keqing was still annoyed, but she couldn't deny the truth.
She sighed, frustrated. "I can't believe people still fall for tricks that crude."
"It's normal," Song Yinjian said with a shrug. "People have greed. Greed makes them easy to use."
"Those who get scammed all want the same thing—adeptal fortune and immortality." Keqing nodded. "For once, you're not wrong."
Then she paused. "I'm going to the Ministry of Civil Affairs to issue a warrant for that conman." "I won't accompany you to look at the land anymore."
Before Song Yinjian could react, she turned and left at a brisk pace—leaving him alone in the clearing.
Song Yinjian watched her go and cursed the masked fraud a thousand times in his heart. Then he strolled back toward Liyue Harbor.
…
About half an hour later, he returned to his shop.
He hadn't even sat down when he saw an old woman walking toward him.
Her back was hunched, her face aged and exhausted, and fresh tear tracks still clung to the corners of her eyes.
Song Yinjian hurried forward, gently supporting her.
"Grandma… what happened?"
The old woman let out a heavy sigh, grief lodged inside it like a stone. "My son… he's gone."
"I want to ask you to handle his funeral… so he can leave in peace." Song Yinjian's heart tightened with sympathy.
For a parent to lose a child in old age—there were few pains worse.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "Leave it to me. I'll make sure he departs safely." But the old woman looked embarrassed. She hesitated, then spoke with shame. "I… I don't have much money."
Song Yinjian smiled gently. "I can tell you're struggling." "Here's what I'll do—I'll give you a special, discounted price."
The old woman gathered all her courage and whispered, voice trembling with humiliation. "I… I only have a thousand mora."
She lowered her head, already bracing for rejection. Song Yinjian opened his mouth to refuse—
then saw how helpless she looked. His words caught in his throat.
After a long silence, he said, "Grandma, I'll take the job." "But we can only do it in the simplest way."
The old woman's eyes instantly reddened. Overwhelmed, she tried to kneel to thank him. Song Yinjian hurriedly stopped her and spoke with her instead.
From their conversation, he learned her surname was Qin.
Her husband had been a miner in the Chasm and died in a mine disaster years ago.
Her son, Li Daping, had suddenly borrowed money from many relatives and friends. Unable to repay, and too ashamed to face the mother who raised him, he hanged himself.
Song Yinjian had always despised people like Li Daping.
If not for this pitiful old mother, he would never have accepted such a job.
He pulled out the donkey cart from the back gate and loaded a few basic funeral supplies. Just as he was about to leave, Shenhe stepped out of her room, her voice as cool as ever. "Junior. I'm going too."
Song Yinjian nodded. He took the reins and led the cart out.
At the shop entrance, he carefully helped Old Madam Qin onto the cart. Then they set off.
Shenhe walked lightly beside him.
After about an hour, they arrived at a remote village.
They stopped in front of a house that looked ready to collapse.
Old Madam Qin climbed down with effort. Supported by Song Yinjian, she pushed open the creaking, aged door.
The moment it opened, a heavy, stifling smell rushed out.
Song Yinjian's eyes immediately landed on Li Daping's body sprawled on the floor.
Livor mortis had already bloomed across the skin. A deep rope mark ringed the neck, horrifyingly clear. A long red cord lay discarded nearby.
The scene was miserably bleak.
The old woman saw her son's cold corpse and broke down again, sobbing until her whole body shook.
Song Yinjian murmured comfort, then began preparing the funeral. He cleaned the body carefully, then dressed it in burial clothes.
That was when a commotion rose outside.
The next moment, seven or eight village men and women stormed in, faces twisted with anger. A sharp-featured middle-aged woman shrieked, voice like a needle.
"Old Qin, you've got nerve!"
"You have money to hold a funeral for your dead bastard son, but you don't have money to pay us back?!"
Her words lit the room like a fuse.
Others exploded into curses and accusations, all talking at once. The house turned into a marketplace of insults.
Old Madam Qin cried, shaking her head, trying to explain.
"It's not like that… Boss Song showed mercy… he only charged me one thousand mora…" It did nothing.
They only grew uglier, more relentless. Their language became filthier by the second. Song Yinjian couldn't listen anymore.
He stopped what he was doing, anger flashing in his eyes, and roared— "Get out. All of you!"
"Or Li Daping's soul will never rest—" "and none of you will die well!"