Chapter 091: Restoring the Ancestral Tomb

Buying pirated versions of his own book to give as gifts—Zhang Tan must be one of the literary world’s rare curiosities. Yet it was an act born of necessity in a time of hardship.

After the much-admired traditional edition, the release of the simplified version caused little stir; at most, Tan Mingxia was the recipient of unparalleled envy from neighbors.

On the afternoon of the following day, the weather was clear and pleasant.

The entire Zhang family gathered in the courtyard of the eldest uncle’s house, beginning the annual ritual of making spirit money. The spirit money consisted of stacks of coarse yellow paper, and the process involved striking the joint of a sickle with a mallet. The joint’s circular shape imprinted round marks upon the paper, symbolizing ancient coins with heaven’s roundness and earth’s square.

This was a custom passed down through countless generations.

“Have the firecrackers and fireworks been bought?” Grandfather Zhang Henong emerged from the house, his expression unreadable.

“They have. The eldest cousin went to buy them,” the uncle replied.

Zhang Henong nodded and retreated indoors.

Zhang Tan, helping with the spirit money, was filled with emotion. Every year at this time, his grandfather’s mood seemed tinged with sorrow. It’s said that young couples grow old together, but in old age, to be alone—how could one ever be truly at peace?

In his previous life, Zhang Tan was too young to understand his grandfather, or perhaps he simply never paid attention to his feelings. By the time he grew older and matured, his grandfather had passed away a year after the Beijing Olympics, quietly and without illness. Now, looking back, he realized that elders were often like a weighty book of life’s experiences.

His grandfather was no exception.

In the past, the ancestral rites at Qingming were not especially grand. Zhang Henong’s father—Zhang Tan’s great-grandfather—had died early in the years of war. Orphaned young, Zhang Henong became the village cowherd, sneaking into the landlord’s children’s classes to listen, earning the schoolteacher’s favor and eventually marrying the teacher’s daughter.

She was Zhang Tan’s grandmother.

Grandmother had a beautiful name—He Luxue—it sounded just like the famous British ice cream brand Walls.

People married young in those days; Zhang Henong and He Luxue wed in their teens, truly “young couple.”

Perhaps in an era when marriages were arranged, deep affection between spouses was rare. Zhang Henong and He Luxue were much the same; Zhang Henong was very patriarchal, ruling the household with an iron fist and the occasional scolding. Yet through all the storms, He Luxue bore him four sons and a daughter, creating a large family.

But happiness was fleeting. When Zhang Tan was about three, his grandmother fell and hit her head. It was the busy farming season in the village, the whole family working the fields, so the injury was not taken seriously. Zhang Henong was often away in town, rarely home, so the head injury went unchecked at the hospital, only a simple bandage applied.

Not long after, grandmother died—cause: intracranial bleeding.

Zhang Tan was still too young to remember, unaware of how his grandfather reacted. Later, every Qingming festival, at Zhang Henong’s insistence, the entire family attended the ancestral rites unless there was an unavoidable reason.

Grandfather never spoke of grandmother, but now Zhang Tan could sense his profound longing for her.

Perhaps his requirement that no one be absent during her rites was a way to compensate for the regret surrounding her death…

“Uncle, should we go to town and buy some pine saplings to plant around grandmother’s grave?” Zhang Tan looked up and suggested.

His uncle hesitated, “Pine trees?”

Zhang Tan nodded, “On my way back, I saw someone selling saplings in the town square, quite a few pines on the truck. I’d like to buy a dozen or so and plant them around the old grave. Maybe we could even commission two stone lions for the monument.”

Before anyone could speak, Zhang Quanshun chimed in, “Yangyang’s idea is a good one. The old grave needs some fixing up—it’s too barren. Big brother, third, fourth, I think we should not only plant pines and set stone lions, but also build a brick boundary around the grave. The Tao family’s grave is next door; if we mark the boundaries now, it’ll save trouble later.”

Once the topic was broached, the four brothers couldn’t stop, each contributing to plans for the grave’s renovation.

Soon Zhang Henong arrived and gave instructions on the spot—not to worry about the expense. If money was tight, he’d use his pension. As a retired state official, his bank account was quite healthy.

Zhang Tan said, “Grandpa’s money shouldn’t be used. Let me pay for it, my royalties for April just came in. This time I won’t hand them over; I’ll use them all for grandmother’s grave.”

Zhang Quanshun nodded along, “Yes, let Yangyang pay. Mother loved him most; before she passed, she was still helping Tan Mingxia raise Yangyang. He should fulfill his filial duty.”

The Quanshun father and son wanted to honor their mother, or perhaps show off; after some back and forth, everyone agreed.

Immediately the whole family sprang into action, heading to town to buy pine trees, stone lions, bricks, and cement. The younger generation was set to work turning the soil and preparing to lay a cement platform after the ancestral rites.

Only the new monument was missing.

Erecting a monument required engraving, which couldn’t be done in time—perhaps next Qingming.

...

The Zhang family’s grand renovation of the old graveyard was witnessed by many, quickly becoming a topic of gossip.

“The Zhangs are really showing off—stone lions, pines!”

“Exactly, eighteen pine trees—all as tall as a person, three hundred each. That’s nearly five thousand this trip.”

“They’re certainly generous. Do you think the Zhangs struck it rich?”

“What else? The e-Era Internet café was opened by the fourth Zhang and the eldest’s second son. The second son, Zhang Quanshun, had a share at first, but later gave it up and opened a new café in Dayang Town. You haven’t seen—it’s packed!”

“Opening a café must cost a lot. Where’d Zhang Quanshun get the money?”

“You don’t know? His son published a book!”

“A book?”

“Yes, Zhang Quanshun and Tan Mingxia have a talented son—still in high school, already an author, published books, royalties said to be tens of thousands!”

“Really? Tens of thousands?”

“You’re exaggerating, tens of thousands would buy two apartments in Hefei!”

“Well, that’s what I heard—maybe it’s ten or twenty thousand… Anyway, lots of royalties.”

“So, the Zhangs’ ancestral grave is truly blessed.”

“Definitely blessed!”

On the day the townsfolk declared the Zhangs’ ancestral grave blessed, the Zhang family demonstrated the power of their numbers, turning the old graveyard upside-down in a single afternoon.

Around the monument, cement was poured; on either side of the platform, a fierce stone lion stood guard. A brick path wound its way to the roadside, and a brick wall enclosed a vast area around the grave. The old graveyard was part of the Zhangs’ own fields; Gangji Town had no public cemetery, so families occupied their own plots or reclaimed wasteland. Around the grave, eighteen pine trees were planted, lush and verdant, lending a hint of grandeur.

With everything done, this year’s Qingming ancestral rites were complete.

At dusk, back home, the women of the Zhang family had prepared a sumptuous feast. After washing away the dust, everyone gathered round, celebrating deep into the night.

Bowl in hand, warmed by wine and the lively chatter, Zhang Tan felt content.

He truly enjoyed these rare moments of togetherness.