Meanwhile, Xu Xiangqian was leading the coffin up the mountain, when an unexpected situation arose.
Ganma Mountain was not a particularly tall burial hill.
There was only one path up the mountain—not exactly narrow, but certainly not wide enough for two coffins to pass side by side.
As the coffin-bearers made their way up the slope, they happened to encounter a family descending after completing their burial rites.
This procession was far more grand in scale.
There were those carrying white banners, those holding mourning lanterns, those bearing incense pavilions, those playing the suona and other instruments... The coffin itself had already been interred and was not visible.
The pallbearers and the mourning relatives walked together in a vast column of forty or fifty people—clearly a family of some means.
Xu Xiangqian stood in the middle of the path, holding two paper figures aloft in each hand. Compared to the crowd opposite, he looked especially solitary.
"The road-clearing ghosts, grim and fierce, carry golden axes askance! The peril-path spirits, sweeping and vast, hold silver halberds upright!" he chanted.
"Make way, make way now!"
This was no act of rudeness—it was the traditional call for clearing the road during a funeral procession.
Ghosts were also spirits; peril was also prominence. The Road-Clearing Ghost and the Peril-Path Spirit were in fact the Road-Opening Spirit and the Manifest-Path Spirit. In funeral processions, they walked at the very front of the column, guiding the way and driving away evil spirits and specters.
These two spirits held genuine divine authority, recognized and worshipped within the formal rites acknowledged by the mortal realm of the present age. They were among the relatively orthodox existences within the divine hierarchy. Orthodoxy did not necessarily equate to strength—heretical gods and illicit sacrifices were not always weak.
Judging solely by their divine portfolios, they could not surpass the White Bone Venerable God.
Of course, here, the call for clearing the road during a funeral was simply borrowing the names of these two deities—it did not mean they could truly command divine beings.
In theory, since the road-clearing call had been made, the other party should step aside. After all, this side was going up the mountain, that side was going down; this side was still carrying the coffin, while that side had already completed the burial.
This was the proper etiquette, but not everyone cared to observe it.
Among the crowd opposite, there was a glossy-faced young lord, probably so accustomed to luxury that he could not bear hardship. He leaned alone against a sedan chair carried by bearers.
People could step aside, but a sedan chair was inconvenient to move—unless he got out.
Perhaps it was self-importance, perhaps it was confidence in having numbers on his side.
From a distance, he squinted at Xu Xiangqian and said, "Cut the chatter and get out of the way!"
"That's unreasonable!" One of the young pallbearers couldn't help but speak up. "Usually, when paths cross between those ascending and descending, the descending yield to the ascending, and those already buried yield to those about to be buried. Are we supposed to stop the coffin and let you pass?"
Throughout the journey, Xu Xiangqian had actually been secretly channeling his strength; otherwise, the two young men would not have found carrying the coffin so effortless.
Now, speaking with righteous indignation, his voice was full of vigor.
"Oh! You've got some nerve!" The glossy-faced young lord slapped the armrest of his chair. "Send up a few who can fight!"
Several burly men from the crowd pushed their way to the front.
He shouted, "If they won't move, give them the sticks!"
On the ascending side, the two pallbearers fell silent immediately. They moved to step aside while still carrying the coffin.
Xu Xiangqian raised the paper figures and stretched out a hand to block them. "Don't move!"
He looked at the other party with contempt. "Who are you? What clan or faction do you belong to, to act so arrogantly?"
"Ha, there really are people who aren't afraid of death, trying to negotiate with me?" The glossy-faced young lord perked up, treating this as entertainment. He sneered, "Go on, tell him who this young lord is!"
Immediately, a lackey spoke up from beside him: "Our young lord holds a fine post in the General's Yamen, and is an honored guest at the Inspector's manor! That street rascal San, that mountain bandit Tiger, that merchant Old Huang Qi—they're all our young lord's little brothers! Ask around in both the lawful and lawless worlds! In all of Linzi, how many heroes of his age can compare?"
Well now, that did sound rather impressive.
Xu Xiangqian was greatly startled. "So he's a petty thug, a rotten scoundrel!"
Before the other party could erupt, he too let out a cold laugh. "You all tell him who this young lord is!"
The glossy-faced young lord forced down his temper, wanting to hear just who this supposed big shot was.
The two pallbearers looked at each other... and neither said a word.
They truly had no idea who Xu Xiangqian was.
At this moment, the young man at the front of the coffin twitched his ear—it was Xu Xiangqian secretly transmitting his voice to him.
Xu Xiangqian transmitted his words while turning back to look at him, saying, "Don't worry about scaring them. Just say it straight!"
Meeting Xu Xiangqian's encouraging gaze, the young man steeled himself and declared: "Li Longchuan of the Marquis of City Breaker's estate is our young lord's close brother. Chongxuan Sheng of the Marquis of Bowang's estate is begging to be his friend. Prime Minister Yan's own grandson always picks up the tab for him. Of the Four Great Academies under heaven, he is a genuine alumnus. Across all of Linzi, among his generation, there is no one before whom he need bow..."
Xu Xiangqian fed him each line through voice transmission, and the young man repeated them.
But as he spoke, he grew less and less confident, his voice weakening... The boast was simply too grand. There wasn't a shred of truth to any of it.
The glossy-faced young lord had initially been interested in hearing it out, but by the end, there was nothing left but cold laughter.
Just one point: a person of such stature would need a road-clearing funeral procession? A person of such stature would bury their family and friends here at Ganma Mountain?
Ganma Mountain was a decent burial hill, sure—but that depended on what you compared it to!
"Damn it, beat them to death!" The glossy-faced young lord angrily pointed forward. "They're so full of hot air—make them kneel here and repeat those words a thousand times!"
Several burly men surged forward.
It was precisely at this moment that Jiang Chen arrived, and he witnessed the scene.
"Stop!" Xu Xiangqian suddenly shouted, giving the other party pause.
He turned around and caught sight of Jiang Chen approaching. "Get over here, I can't free my hands!"
Then he turned back and bellowed, "Today, the Twin Prides of Ganma Mountain stand here. Let's see who dares make a move!"
Jiang Chen broke into a cold sweat.
He had actually announced their title as the Twin Prides of Ganma Mountain—what kind of peculiar hobby was this... or perhaps taste?
The paper figures fell to the ground, marking the arrival at the destination. The position for placing the coffin had not yet been reached, so Xu Xiangqian genuinely could not "free his hands." But facing these people, there was no need to use his "hands" at all. He was simply being lazy—one of his many peculiar quirks.
But regardless, Jiang Chen could not just stand by and watch Xu Fang's remains be left stranded here.
So he stepped forward, intending to teach them a small lesson.
But the glossy-faced young lord cried out first: "Wait!"
His voice was already trembling.
He scrambled down from his sedan chair in a heap and rushed toward... the "porter" behind Jiang Chen, bowing deeply: "Lord Zheng..."
The "porter" stepped forward and kicked him flat on the ground. "Do you think you're worthy of greeting me?"
"Yes, yes, yes." The glossy-faced young lord scrambled up from the ground with practiced speed, bowing and scraping. "This lowly one was rude, this lowly one was rude!"
He had once had the fortune of seeing this man. He knew that all those so-called rascals, bandits, and merchants—before this person, they did not even qualify to sit in his presence.
As for the "porter" himself, he was seething with fury inside, because he knew his identity could no longer be concealed. He swept a cold gaze over the people behind the young lord. "Ganma Mountain is a place for carrying the dead. You sit there looking rather comfortable—eager to be carried down, are you?"
The glossy-faced young lord dropped to his knees again, kowtowing. "I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare."
The "porter" kicked him away again and cursed, "Get lost!"
The glossy-faced young lord didn't dare make a sound. He slunk around the side of Xu Fang's coffin in a miserable huddle, then threw himself on the ground and truly began to "roll" down the mountain.
The group that had come with him didn't dare speak a word either. White banners, mourning lanterns, incense pavilions—all of them were hastily packed up. Each one slunk away down the mountain along the side path, tails between their legs.
The "porter" turned back and happened to see the smile on Jiang Chen's face.
That smile was thoroughly detestable.
"I've changed my mind. You can go now," Jiang Chen said.
"I won't even ask your name. But you should understand that from this moment on, your identity is no longer a secret—either to me or to Chongxuan Sheng."
The "porter" stared at him for a moment, then ultimately turned and departed without a word.