Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Shang Yu Arrives in the Rain Chapter 71: Chapter 71: Shang Yu Arrives in the Rain The work of a funeral worker, though it may sound simple, involves many necessary processes when put into practice.
From preparing the deceased’s facial appearance to the moment they are placed in the coffin, a mortician is needed to handle the entire procedure.
In the preparation room, Li Qiao and Mo Qi stood near a small cart filled with tools, getting ready for the task ahead.
Once everything was prepared, the three, dressed in white lab coats, stood together and bowed respectfully towards the person on the table to express their honour.
In the time that followed, they methodically carried out each step at the table.
However, as Mo Qi was about to begin cosmetic work on the deceased, the sight before him made him exclaim involuntarily, “This…
is such a horrific way to die.”
The young man, who had passed away in an accident, had numerous crisscrossed and fearsome scars on his body, which, due to coagulated blood, looked exceptionally ferocious and were all from cuts.
His death could be described as tragic.
Mo Qi suddenly remembered something Li Qiao had once said: “Sometimes, the living are more frightening.”
At that moment, Li Qiao and Uncle Zhong the Ninth were sewing the wounds with gloves on carefully.
Hearing Mo Qi’s cry, they both looked up and cautioned in unison, “Quiet!”
About two hours later, the process of preparing the facial appearance was complete.
Uncle Zhong the Ninth, who was over fifty, looked tired as he watched the now peaceful-faced young man who looked as though he was sleeping, and after exhaling a breath of turbid air, he instructed Mo Qi, “Alright, tell them to take him to the mourning hall for the last farewell.”
By then, it was nearly nine in the morning, and the rain hadn’t let up.
After washing up, Li Qiao and Uncle Zhong the Ninth, along with other staff, arrived at the mourning hall, where they saw this scene before even entering.
Inside the solemn black and white mourning hall, there stood a dense crowd of nearly fifty people.
All were dressed in uniform black suits, with white mourning flowers on their chests, orderly and uniform, their expressions solemn.
Through the faint gaps, at the very front of the queue, stood a conspicuous and tall figure.
Uncle Zhong the Ninth, accompanied by Mo Qi and Li Qiao, walked in from the side.
The awe-inspiring queue of mourners added a sense of oppression to the place.
As they drew near, Li Qiao could clearly see the figure standing alone in front of the crystal coffin, it was Shang Yu.
Today, his attire was more formal and solemn than ever before, with the shirt collar buttoned up to the top most fastidiously.
Li Qiao stood in a corner, staring unwaveringly at the man’s serene and solemn face.
So it turned out that the young man truly belonged to him.
The viewing of the body took a long time because of the large turnout.
By close to ten o’clock, the coffin was closed and placed into the hearse.
Before departing for South Sea Mountain Cemetery, it seemed even the heavens could sense the intense grief, as the rainfall became heavier.
In the torrential rain, countless black cars, adorned with white silk, followed behind the hearse, slowly making their way toward South Sea Mountain.
At the burial, led by Shang Yu, everyone stood in the rain, watching as the workers lowered the coffin and sealed the tomb.
The tragically deceased young man was finally laid to rest forever in the cemetery behind the South Sea Mansion.
In the rain, Li Qiao stood at the very back of the crowd wearing a mask, a mix of emotions in her heart as she observed the scene.
Everyone always said that Shang Shaoyan, the South Sea merchant, was cold-blooded and ruthless, wild in his actions; likely they had never seen him in such a moment heavy with emotion as today.
Because he was Shang Shaoyan, he didn’t have to do this.
Suddenly, the crowd at the front orderly parted to each side.
Down the pathway sheltered by black silk umbrellas, Shang Yu approached through the rain, his handsome and clear-cut features beneath the umbrella still proud and aloof.
He came to Uncle Zhong the Ninth and nodded deeply with eyes dark as ink, “Jiugong, you have my thanks.”