Chapter 19: The Veil of Maya (19)

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Wen Mingwei told Tan Zhao that he would return to Xinzhou "tomorrow," though in truth, he planned to leave three days later. During those three days, he stayed at home, maintaining sporadic contact with Tan Zhao, giving the impression of being busy on a business trip and unable to respond promptly. Coincidentally, Tan Zhao was also busy and couldn’t constantly check his phone, so the silence between them caused no trouble.

Since mid-last month, Wen Mingwei had been away from home for over half a month. This trip back was mainly to transcribe scriptures and sort through the belongings left behind by Jian Qingzheng. This was a ritual he performed every year before the anniversary of Jian Qingzheng’s passing.

The scriptures consisted of a Buddhist sutra and a Daoist scripture, nothing particularly special. Rather than praying for the deceased, Wen Mingwei used the act of copying the scriptures to calm his mind, to dispel worldly distractions, thereby preparing himself mentally to return to his homeland and face the cold grave.

No matter the turmoil inside, his exterior remained calm and unreadable to others.

On August 12, the day before Jian Qingzheng’s memorial, Wen Mingwei set out from home, driven by Gu Jing, accompanied by Jian Xinning, taking the Jingxin Highway back to Xinzhou. The journey took about ten hours, far less convenient than flying, but Wen Mingwei wanted to watch the coastal scenery along the way.

The highway traced a winding coastline, and as familiar sights came into view, the car’s occupants fell silent without speaking.

Xinzhou was both their hometown and a place of deep wounds.

Wen Mingwei had chosen to relocate years ago, partly to signal to the Marshal his determination to distance himself from conflict, and partly because he was tired of the damp sea winds, seeking a new environment to heal.

Since leaving, his visits to Xinzhou had been rare and there was little left to hold onto.

That day, Wen Mingwei cut about ten centimeters off his long hair, tying the strands with a leather band and placing them in the box containing Jian Qingzheng’s belongings, intending to burn them along with some paper offerings the next day.

He did not burn all the relics; it was his habit to select some items for burning each year, while the rest were brought back and locked away until the following year.

This year marked the ninth anniversary. In Xinzhou’s funerary customs, the third, sixth, and ninth anniversaries held special significance.

The third anniversary was the “return of the soul” day, when the departed’s spirit was believed to visit the living one last time to bid farewell to family and friends.

The sixth and ninth anniversaries were “eye-opening” days, during which ritual masters performed ceremonies to glimpse the deceased’s reincarnation status, often assuring relatives that the departed was doing well. In essence, these were religious superstitions providing psychological comfort.

Compared to other regions in the alliance, Xinzhou was a place where religious culture was particularly pervasive.

Perhaps it was because of the rampant gang violence in earlier years, with many people stained by blood and weighed down by sins, who then sought to accumulate virtue or relieve the mental anguish of killing their own kind, yearning for salvation through faith.

Wen Mingwei grew up in the Wen family’s old mansion, surrounded by countless Buddha statues.

These statues stood in bedrooms, living rooms, even corridors, bathed in sunlight, moonlight, and countless neon lights, their expressions ranging from smiles to anger, coldness to compassion. They became the unavoidable backdrop of Wen Mingwei’s later dreams, difficult to describe in detail.

Yet this year, despite it being Jian Qingzheng’s ninth anniversary, Wen Mingwei did not intend to perform the “eye-opening” ceremony, nor had he done so on the sixth anniversary.

These decisions were always his to make.

Jian Qingzheng’s parents were deceased, leaving only one direct relative—a sister, Jian Xinning.

Though she was his biological sister, Jian Xinning was actually more pragmatic than Wen Mingwei, often comforting him and hoping he could move on from the past and find new love.

However, due to their superior-subordinate relationship, her words were tactful, and Wen Mingwei usually responded little; gradually, Jian Xinning stopped pressing the matter.

In truth, Wen Mingwei’s calm was a recent development. In the early years after the memorial, he could barely hide his emotions, spending entire days at the grave with red eyes upon returning home.

What enabled his serenity later, besides the healing power of time—

Jian Xinning couldn’t help but think of Tan Zhao, the man who had been treated as a substitute, who must have played some role.

Just then, as she glanced at Wen Mingwei, his phone suddenly rang—it was Tan Zhao calling.

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Wen Mingwei glanced at the flashing name on the screen and answered.

“Are you still in Xinzhou?”

A displeased male voice came through: “It’s been days. What could possibly keep you so busy?”

Wen Mingwei didn’t reveal he hadn’t arrived yet, instead skillfully countered, “Do you miss me?”

As expected, Tan Zhao didn’t ask when he had returned and replied casually, “Who misses you? I’m just annoyed by those old men on the board, needed someone to talk to.”

“Alright.” Wen Mingwei smiled. “I’m busy here, so I can only chat for five minutes.”

“Then you might as well hang up now.”

“But I miss you,” Wen Mingwei said. “What have you eaten today?”

“Don’t remember, just grabbed a bite.”

The young master was anxious about his upcoming birthday and couldn’t help but inquire: “Have you prepared the gift? You know I’m picky; if it’s not good, I’ll refuse it.”

He added, “Don’t make it too expensive; it must be creative and show your sincerity. Understand?”

“...”

Tan Zhao spoke like a demanding lord, and before Wen Mingwei could respond, Jian Xinning, overhearing, furrowed her brows, thinking, “So this is his temperament? Nothing like my brother at all.”

If only their faces were alike but their characters so different, wouldn’t Wen Mingwei feel out of character?

But Wen Mingwei seemed unfazed, casually replying a few words, chatting with Tan Zhao about trivial matters, timing the call to exactly five minutes before hanging up, his tone steady throughout.

By then, they had entered Dragon City. Jian Xinning couldn’t hold back any longer and asked, “Brother, isn’t his personality too different?”

Wen Mingwei paused, offering no answer.

Jian Xinning immediately regretted speaking and tried to remedy it but found no words, so she looked out the window instead and changed the subject, “Looks like we’re almost there. Where shall we go first?”

“To your place,” Wen Mingwei said. “Tonight I’ll sleep in Qingzheng’s room, and tomorrow morning we’ll perform the memorial.”

“Okay.”

Jian Xinning wiped the sweat from her palms, relieved.

**

The next day, as Wen Mingwei and his companions headed to the cemetery, Tan Zhao had already arrived at the company, starting his day’s work.

His birthday was August 15.

He cared so much this year because it was the first birthday in history with no one organizing anything for him.

But he hadn’t said this outright, and it was unclear whether Wen Mingwei understood.

What did “organizing” mean?

Ordinary people might not grasp it, but for Tan Zhao, every birthday was like a massive festival. Anyone who wanted to be associated with him would find ways to attend the party, offering a “Happy Birthday” he didn’t really care about and a gift he might be too lazy to open even next year.

Blessings and gifts flooded his world, so abundant that even if he opened his arms wide, he couldn’t hold them all.

But this year was different.

Tan Zhao’s grandfather had passed away, and his standing at home plummeted, with little hope of gaining power.

Especially with his elder uncle’s covert maneuvers, most of his connections were snatched away. Uncles, aunts, and their children who used to flatter him now avoided him; their warmth had faded.

Even Li Yue, normally his closest friend, suddenly called to say he had to travel and couldn’t celebrate the birthday with the young master.

Tan Zhao gritted his teeth and asked, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Li Yue was close enough to vent, “I don’t want to, but my dad said your family’s waters are too deep lately and told me to keep my distance. What can I do? I’ll treat you when I get back to make up for it, okay?”

“...”

A surge of anger shot through Tan Zhao’s head. So the saying “when the tree falls, the monkeys scatter” was true—everyone was a fair-weather friend, no one reliable.

But he wasn’t down yet, and already had to watch faces. What would happen if he really fell?

Tan Zhao brooded every day without telling Wen Mingwei a word.

He already knew this year’s birthday wouldn’t be the grand spectacle of previous years.

Last year, it had been held at sea, with Tan Yingzhuo building a floating garden that cost tens of millions to decorate. Guests fought to attend, proud to be invited. Some uninvited influencers even sneaked in to take pictures, pretending they were invited, posting them online to gain vanity and views.

At the time, Tan Zhao felt nothing; he was used to it.

Only now, with the grandeur gone, did he feel the staggering contrast—how lively it had been last year.

But one cannot live in the past. The young master maturedly told himself it didn’t matter; if it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen.

Besides, with his grandfather recently deceased, he couldn’t throw a big party anyway. Keeping a low profile was right.

In short, Tan Zhao convinced himself well, except when facing Wen Mingwei, his temper slipped.

“Did you prepare the gift or not? Why won’t you answer me directly? Stop playing coy.”

This was a text message sent on August 13 at noon, after which Tan Zhao waited all evening, but no reply came.

Wen Mingwei wasn’t busy; he had simply turned off his phone in front of Jian Qingzheng’s tombstone.

Jian Qingzheng’s memorial was the hardest day of the year for Wen Mingwei.

Not just because of longing for the deceased, but because on that day, all the pains and unresolved grievances from his earlier life surged forth through a tiny spiritual crack revealed while tending the grave, threatening to drown him.

Rather than savor that complicated feeling, he preferred to simply remember Jian Qingzheng and the happy days they had grown up together.

In fact, Jian Qingzheng came from a good family. His father had once been a trusted aide to Old Master Wen, highly regarded and well treated in every way.

Thus, as a child, Jian Qingzheng studied and trained alongside the Wen children, earning the respectful title of “young master” from outsiders.

Wen Mingwei, on the other hand, came from the worst background of all: a bastard, used as a tool to drive a wedge between the Wen couple, brought home from an orphanage, despised and unloved, never cherished a single day.

Jian Qingzheng was the first to reach out to him.

The first time they met, Wen Mingwei was being beaten. He no longer remembered the reason—it was a daily occurrence, no one cared.

At that moment, Wen Mingwei knelt on the ground, his back whipped until it was raw and bleeding, pain nearly causing him to faint. Tears slipped through his fingers onto the floor, but he dared not raise his head for fear of being seen.