Chapter Seventeen: The Funeral

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The Gulfstream G700 is one of the newest private jets domestically, yet Nie Yunyang remained calm, unaffected. His time cultivating himself on Longhu Mountain had taught him to remain composed in the face of both honor and disgrace.

Mu Qingyao stared absentmindedly at the clouds outside the window, lost in thought. The ashes of Mu Bolin and his wife rested on the seat beside her, while Elder Qiu and Chang Zhicheng sat behind them.

“Try to get some rest first. When we arrive in Xianyang, I’ll call you. There’s still a lot to do this afternoon,” Nie Yunyang said gently, his voice full of concern for Mu Qingyao.

Mu Bolin’s death had dealt a heavy blow to Mu Qingyao. No matter how strong a woman was, it was hard to bear the pressure of losing one’s closest kin.

Mu Qingyao nodded slightly and closed her eyes. She was utterly exhausted and soon fell asleep.

Nie Yunyang observed her closely and noticed her pale complexion and dark circles under her eyes. She no longer looked the vibrant self she had been when they first met.

In life, parents are our greatest support. When they pass away, it means we must grow up and face the cold reality alone.

The flight from Chongqing to Xianyang took about two hours.

When the Gulfstream G700 touched down smoothly on the runway, everyone stepped outside the airport. Mu Qingyao took a deep breath and called out, “Dad, Mom, we’re almost home!”

Today was September 16th. The sky was overcast, and compared to the scorching heat in Chongqing, the weather here was already hinting at the arrival of autumn.

Outside the airport, most of the Mu family relatives had gathered. As the saying goes, when one attains success, all his kin rise with him. Mu Bolin had thrived in Chongqing’s business circles and naturally did not neglect his hometown relatives. Their rosy complexions showed the family’s wealth.

Mu Bolin’s ancestral home was in Chaiping Town, Zhen’an County, 116 kilometers from Xianyang Airport. The area was known for its picturesque mountains and waters, a famous scenic spot and popular check-in location.

Used to the towering skyscrapers of the city, looking out at the rugged mountains of Northwest China offered a unique charm.

To the north of Xianyang City lie the renowned Qinling Mountains, and Chaiping Town rests at the foot of Tayun Mountain, part of the Qinling range, famed as “Golden Peak piercing the heavens, pine seas amidst the clouds.”

This was Mu Bolin’s hometown. After his rise to success, he never forgot his roots. He funded the construction of a wide road in Chaiping Town, and the small villas of his relatives were all built with his money.

Having lived on Longhu Mountain for ten years, Nie Yunyang felt an innate affinity for the mountains. As they rode in the car, he kept his gaze fixed on the distant peaks.

Upon reaching Chaiping Town, Nie Yunyang saw that a mourning tent had already been set up in the town square. The crowd bustled busily, and cooks were preparing a banquet.

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The memorial hall for Mu Bolin and his wife was set up in the Mu family courtyard, following the funeral customs of Shangluo City.

When the convoy arrived at the Mu family’s old residence, numerous aunts and cousins gathered around, weeping bitterly, including Mu Bolin’s cousins.

Nie Yunyang couldn’t tell if their sorrow was genuine or feigned.

The funeral band began to play, filling the atmosphere with deep sadness. Mu Qingyao’s tears flowed freely, with Nie Yunyang and Chang Zhicheng closely following behind her.

Mu Bolin’s cousin was in charge of the entire funeral. Under his guidance, everyone entered the Mu family’s main gate, brought the ashes of Mu Bolin and his wife into the memorial hall, and began burning incense and kowtowing.

The Mu family old residence was a common single-story house in the northwest, featuring a gatehouse, front yard, main house, and back yard.

Mu Qingyao, dressed in mourning clothes, knelt alongside Mu Bolin’s nephews and nieces, greeting friends and relatives who came to pay their respects.

Elder Qiu had gone out for a walk, while Nie Yunyang and Chang Zhicheng stood guard outside the door.

“You go eat first. I’ll come replace you in a bit,” Chang Zhicheng said.

They had already agreed to watch over Mu Qingyao twenty-four hours a day. She was never to be left alone unless she went to the restroom.

According to tradition, mourning lasts three days and nights. This period was the most complex and dangerous.

Time passed slowly.

The temperature in the northwest dropped quickly after nightfall.

At this moment, Nie Yunyang and Chang Zhicheng were fully alert, wary of any unknown threats. After the evening banquet ended, Mu Bolin’s cousin began reciting the eulogy.

Outside, the courtyard was packed with onlookers. When the memorial ceremony concluded, Mu Qingyao rose to get a drink of water—and then the unexpected happened.

A man dressed in black concealed a dagger in his sleeve. Blending into the crowd, his cold, sinister gaze remained fixed on Mu Qingyao as he quietly approached.

Nie Yunyang and Chang Zhicheng flanked Mu Qingyao. When the black-clad man drew his dagger and lunged at her, Chang Zhicheng immediately sprang forward to block him, gripping his wrist and pushing him against the wall.

Nie Yunyang stepped in front of Mu Qingyao, shielding her from view.

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The man struggled fiercely, trying to break free from Chang Zhicheng’s grip, but Chang’s strength was superior. In a flash, he snatched the dagger away and drove it forcefully into the man’s chest, rendering him helpless.

As Chang Zhicheng carried the black-clad man away to deal with him, Nie Yunyang pulled Mu Qingyao back into the house, knowing it was the safest place at that moment.

The memorial had ended, and the guests gradually departed. When Nie Yunyang and Mu Qingyao reached the deeper corridor, another man in gray rushed toward Mu Qingyao wielding a large knife.

Nie Yunyang’s face darkened. He hurriedly pushed Mu Qingyao aside and narrowly dodged the blade. Mu Qingyao staggered, nearly falling, but Nie Yunyang was less fortunate; a deep cut appeared along his left arm, blood instantly pouring out.

“Damn it!” Nie Yunyang cursed, swinging a fist at the gray-clad man’s face, only to be blocked by the man’s palm.

The gray-clad man raised the large knife, aiming for Nie Yunyang’s neck, intending to finish him off before going after Mu Qingyao.

Nie Yunyang bent down, narrowly evading the strike, then leapt behind the attacker. He struck the man’s back with an elbow, throwing him off balance, then grabbed his arm and delivered a powerful knee to his head.

While Nie Yunyang fought fiercely with the gray-clad man, Mu Qingyao stood frozen in terror, forgetting to call for help.

Unable to subdue Nie Yunyang quickly, the gray-clad man shouted for backup. Another burly man climbed over the wall, holding a Browning pistol fitted with a silencer.

Upon seeing Mu Qingyao, the burly man leveled the gun at her.

Nie Yunyang’s heart froze in terror. He kicked the gray-clad man away and lunged toward Mu Qingyao, but the gunman was at least twenty meters away—there was no time to disarm him.

Would Mu Qingyao perish this very night?

A fierce unwillingness surged within Nie Yunyang. He hadn’t expected their enemies’ plan to be so thorough. The two knife-wielding men were merely the appetizers; the real threat was the burly man with the Browning pistol.