Chapter Twelve: A Distant Offering

The Zhang siblings walked for the better part of two hours, finally climbing the small hillside not far from Lu Jing's burial mound. There, the two of them set out a few dishes of food, and Zhang Ning took the glass piece from its brocade box. Gazing at the crystalline, translucent vessel in her hands, she suddenly felt that it resembled the young master so closely — beautiful, transparent, and yet so very fragile.

She poured jiang into it and placed the glass vessel before the plates of food, and the Zhang siblings knelt side by side, bowing from afar toward the place where Lu Jing lay at eternal rest.

The two of them remained silent for a long while before Zhang Ping finally spoke. "Is the young master at peace, wherever he is?"

Hearing this, Zhang Ning sniffed and answered earnestly as well, "Without the young master, we would have no Yuezhou celadon tea bowl. Aning has only this glass piece he gave me, so I can only use it to pour jiang for the young master to drink."

A wind rose over the hilltop, stirring up the fallen leaves on the ground and blowing tears across both their faces.

Aning wiped at her tears once more with her sleeve, gazing out at the hazy, distant burial mound.

"From now on, not only in spring and autumn — in every season of every year, my brother and I will come here to make our distant offering to you, young master."

At that moment, Aning felt as though she could see Lu Jing once more, holding his Yuezhou celadon tea bowl, filled with jiang, turning his head back toward her with a faint, gentle smile.