The cemetery is built on a mountain in the far suburbs of Ningbo.
Shen Ruozhen remained silent during the more than three-hour drive. He got off the car and stepped on the ground of his hometown, which was a patch of dark gray bricks and stones, polished smooth over the years, and the cracks were covered with moss.
Rows of tombstones are placed around the mountain in the shape of neat steps. It is cold and bleak in winter, and looking around, there are only a few people sweeping the tombs and paying homage.
Xiang Mingzhang took Shen Ruozhen up the stone steps. There was a tree planted between each tombstone, adding a bit of vitality to the gloomy cemetery.
When they reached the seventh row, Xiang Mingzhang stopped and said, "The fifth one in front is your father's tomb."
He guessed that Shen Ruozhen must have a lot to say in front of the grave, crying or repenting for being late, and it was not appropriate for outsiders to watch, so he said: "Go, I'll stand here and wait for you."
Shen Ruozhen said: "Okay."
Xiang Mingzhang reminded: "Call me if you have any problem."
Shen Ruozhen said "hmm" and walked forward alone. He came to Ningbo. After walking the last few dozen meters, the world had changed dramatically.
A clean stone tablet, with no photos attached, with "Tomb of Shen Zuorun" engraved in the middle and the dates of birth and death in the corners, with the specific date of death blurred.
Shen Ruozhen felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Facing the tombstone, he bent his legs and knelt down with a plop. His knees hit the bricks heavily, raising a ring of flying dust.
Holding the daisies tightly all the way, Shen Ruozhen placed the bouquet in front of the grave, leaving his palms wet with green. He spoke with endless bitterness: "Father, I'm here to kowtow to you."
Shen Ruozhen bent down and touched the ground with his forehead, making a "bang" sound without feeling any pain.
He kowtowed three times in front of Shen Zuorun's grave. He did not get up from the last kowtow. He knelt down with veins visibly bulging on his hands pressed to the ground. As he recalled the past, he was filled with charges of unfilial behavior.
In the autumn of 1944, Shen Zuorun suddenly fell ill late at night and fell down from the table with his chair. Shen Ruozhen heard the noise when he passed by the door, rushed in and saw Shen Zuorun lying on the floor groaning in pain.
Shen Ruozhen ran over and carried Shen Zuorun to the bed, and ordered the housekeeper to prepare the car quickly. However, in the blink of an eye, Shen Zuorun's wide-open pupils became dilated, and he suddenly lost his breath in Shen Ruozhen's arms.
The father and son often talked about economics, banking operations, current affairs and fate, but they did not expect that they would not be able to leave a single word before their death.
Shen Ruozhen was stunned for a long time, almost in a trance. He turned back to Yao Qi'an to confirm: "Butler... where is the car I asked you to prepare?"
Yao Qi'an choked up and said, it's too late.
Shen Ruozhen held Shen Zuorun's body all night. After dawn, he came out with red eyes and asked Yao Qi'an to temporarily conceal the news of his father's death and just say that he was ill.
How could he lie about matters of life and death? Yao Qi'an sighed twice and said "what a sin".
In this way, Shen Zuorun's body remained in the bedroom. The servants in the mansion didn't know about it, his colleagues and friends didn't know about it, and his wife and daughter on the other side of the ocean were kept in the dark.
No one around suspected anything because the filial Master Shen looked normal, went to work at the bank every day, and handled union affairs on behalf of his father.
It was not until five days later that the Shen family officially issued an obituary announcing the news of Shen Zuorun's death.
On the day of the funeral, Shen Ruozhen personally dressed and cleaned Shen Zuorun's face. He would never forget that his father's body had already become as cold and hard as a rock, and his flesh and blood exuded the foul smell of decay.
The funeral was extremely grand and invited many guests. The long street in front of the Shen Mansion was crowded with onlookers. Under the cover of funeral music and grief, Shen Ruozhen transported a large amount of supplies to the front line.
Later, the housekeeper escorted Shen Zuorun back to Ningbo for burial. Before parting, Shen Ruozhen promised to wait until the war was over, and then kowtow and confess his guilt in front of Shen Zuorun's grave.
Shen Ruozhen stood up, his face full of tears and his forehead covered with dust. He said, "I tampered with my biological father's death time, used his funeral to complete the task, and lied that I was returning to my hometown to observe mourning, but in fact I was secretly transferred."
"Three deadly sins, father, do you hate me?"
“When I came to this era, I actually secretly wondered if I could find any traces of you or the Shen family in Ningbo, but I didn’t check. I guess I didn’t dare to face it.”
"You have been here alone for decades. Do you miss your mother and sister? Are you lonely?"
In the early spring of 1945, Shen Ruozhen had arranged all the people and things, and he was the only one left in the Shen Mansion. At night, in the room where Shen Zuorun was dying, he picked up a pen and wrote the closure notice of Fuhua Bank.
He always kept in mind Shen Zuorun's teachings, to accomplish public affairs first and then consider personal choices.
Shen Ruozhen did his best. He gave up his family, family property, and hometown one by one, and felt increasingly lonely.
A gust of cold wind dried up the tears. Shen Ruozhen put away his grief and regret, revealing his determination: "Father, but I don't regret it. I don't regret anything I have done."
The tombstone stands on the mountainside, and one can see far into the distance. Shen Ruozhen used to be Shen Zuorun's arm, and in the future he wants to be Shen Zuorun's eyes.
"Father, your biggest regret is that you didn't live to see the victory of the war." Shen Ruozhen said, "From now on, you look at the four seasons of your hometown, and I will look at the beautiful mountains and rivers on your behalf."
Xiang Mingzhang stood on the stone steps. As he expected, Shen Ruozhen did not collapse and cry. Instead, he kowtowed and shed tears quietly. True grief is usually silent.
Xiang Mingzhang was actually a little envious. As a son, it was a blessing to have a father who was worthy of respect and following. Unlike him, when he thought of the so-called "father", he only felt an irreconcilable hatred.
Xiang Mingzhang took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, waited for Shen Ruozhen to come over, handed it to him and asked, "Are you okay?"
Shen Ruozhen took it and wiped his forehead, feeling a slight sting, probably scratching his skin. He said, "It's okay, it's a happy thing to be able to pay tribute to my father."
Xiang Mingzhang leaned over to help him brush off the dust on his trousers and said, "Let's go."
Shen Ruozhen looked around and said, "You said that the Yao family comes back every Qingming Festival to worship my father and Butler Yao. Is Butler Yao's tomb also here?"
"Mr. Yao is somewhere else." Xiang Mingzhang said, "Let's talk on the way. Someone is waiting for us there."
Leaving the cemetery, the car sped along the road at the foot of the mountain. Xiang Mingzhang told Shen Ruozhen that Yao Qi'an became a monk in his later years.
Shen Ruozhen was silent for a while. It was expected for a Buddhist to become a monk, but it was unreasonable to leave behind his children and grandchildren to face the ancient Buddha with green lamps. He felt inexplicably sad.
Xiang Mingzhang did not explain, saying: "Mr. Yao was buried in the back hill of the temple, and his family offered a tablet for him."
Shen Ruozhen asked quickly: "Are the people waiting for us members of the Yao family?"
Xiang Mingzhang and Yao Jingcheng discussed a long-term cooperation and gave up three points of profit. Once a beneficial relationship was established, they would talk to Yao Zheng about the relationship.
"Yao Jingcheng acted first and asked for permission later. Ms. Yao had no choice but to give me all the old items and information about the cemetery." Xiang Mingzhang said, "But she was worried and wanted to meet the 'descendants of the Shen family' that I mentioned."
Shen Ruozhen glanced at the driver and said in a deep voice, "Will my face scare people?"
Xiang Mingzhang was optimistic: "It is this face that is credible. If Ms. Yao believes it, we will try to negotiate with her on one more matter." Shen Ruozhen said: "Will I take care of my father's grave in the future?"
Xiang Mingzhang smiled and whispered: "Master Shen is smart."
Shen Ruozhen shook his head, feeling extremely relieved: "I just guessed that you would think what I think. In our feudal old society, this is not called being smart, but having a good life."
The car drove for half an hour and stopped at the foot of a mountain. The temple was very old and was originally dilapidated. The Yao family donated money to repair and expand it, and it has become more and more popular over the years.
Xiang Mingzhang took out his glasses from his bag, intending to cover Shen Ruozhen's eyes. When Shen Ruozhen put them on, the thin silver rims on his high nose bridge made his eyes appear even more distinct. Not only his gestures, but even his eyebrows and eyes revealed a scholarly air, and he looked more like the young master in the old photos.
Standing in the temple's quadrangular courtyard were a mother and son, Yao Zheng and Yao Jingcheng, who had come from Hangzhou.
After the wooden box was delivered, Yao Zheng felt uneasy and insisted on seeing the descendant of the Shen family with her own eyes. When Xiang Mingzhang brought a young man into the temple, she covered her mouth in shock at just one glance.
Shen Ruozhen was also surprised. He knew that Yao Zheng was over seventy years old, but she was after all the granddaughter of Butler Yao. He had always heard Butler Yao mention her as "the little girl".
He took the initiative and said, "Ms. Yao."
Yao Zheng looked at him carefully and asked, "Are you the descendant of Master Shen?"
Shen Ruozhen did not give a clear answer. Wearing such a face was better than anything else. He said in a roundabout way: "Thank you for keeping those old things."
Yao Zheng still had many questions to ask. Shen Ruozhen looked toward the Buddhist temple in the west where tablets were enshrined and said, "Sorry, I want to go see Mr. Yao first."
Xiang Mingzhang stayed in the yard. He had prepared his speech, which, although a bit evasive, was sufficient to deal with the situation.
Shen Ruozhen entered the western Buddhist hall, a solemn place to commemorate the deceased master. He did not dare to look around, but lowered his eyes and followed the monk's guidance to a tablet.
When he looked up and saw the Buddhist name "Wangqiu", Shen Ruozhen understood everything in an instant.
Yao Qi'an was thinking about him. He spent the rest of his life after returning to Ningbo, and was still thinking about his whereabouts until his death.
Buddhists are not allowed to speak loudly. Shen Ruozhen clenched his teeth and put on a calm face. He seemed to hear Yao Qi'an calling him "Young Master".
Holding a piece of incense in his hands, Shen Ruozhen said, "Butler Yao, I failed to keep my promise and am late."
As drops of water fell to the ground on his cheeks, he said in a daze, "I survived this disaster, it must be because of your blessing."
Shen Ruozhen borrowed writing brushes, ink and Buddhist scriptures from the abbot of the temple, then spread out a piece of white paper on the corridor outside the Buddhist hall. He knelt on a cushion and copied a volume of scriptures for the deceased Master Wangqiu.
Xiang Mingzhang finally saw Shen Ruozhen writing proper small regular script. His slender fingers held a thin wolf hair brush, and he wrote the characters with his pen. They were beautiful and correct, like wandering clouds and startled dragons.
After writing, Shen Ruozhen folded the scripture and threw it into the incineration furnace in front of the main hall.
The flames were blazing and the white paper burned to ashes.
He put his hands together, called "Butler Yao" in his heart, and then whispered to him, "Virtue is boundless, and the gift is modest."
(End of this chapter)