Seeing the young man just give him a cold glance, Hang Ze didn't mind.
He turned his head to look at the old mansion's main gate, placing one hand on his hip while the other scratched the back of his head. "This... we're supposed to knock?"
The chubby guy, Yu Hao, was still smiling, but his gaze nimbly swept around the surroundings.
The woman with her hair in a bun, Tang Shutong, had calm eyes, yet the tip of her shoe unconsciously ground lightly against the wet, bluish-gray stone pavement.
The ponytailed girl with scars, Shi Weiwei, hugged her arms, her brows slightly furrowed, unsure if she was pondering or on guard.
The buzz-cut man, Xing Ge, had a heavy, deep gaze, occasionally sweeping over the gate and the high walls on either side, carrying a scrutinizing air.
As for the young man with a small bun, Lin Zuo, he tilted his head back slightly, seemingly watching the trajectory of raindrops dripping from the eaves tiles.
Hang Ze looked left and right, somewhat helpless about this oppressive atmosphere, his tone carrying a hint of over-familiarity. "Folks, if none of you are talking, then I'll go knock, alright?"
Just as he was about to step forward, with a "creak," the heavy gate opened a crack from the inside. An elderly man wearing a bluish-gray long gown, with a slender build and a slightly sallow complexion, appeared before the group.
He held a somewhat old oil-paper umbrella, his gaze quickly sweeping over the faces of the seven before finally transforming into a formulaic, mournful respect.
The old man bowed slightly. His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced through the dense curtain of rain, landing in everyone's ears.
"Young masters, young ladies... you've finally returned."
Young masters? Young ladies?
The tense bodies of the group paused for a moment.
Were they supposed to play the role of returning children?
After taking in the expressions of all seven, the old man bowed slightly again. "The master's mourning hall is set up in the ancestral temple. Young masters and young ladies, you must be weary from your journey. Please enter the manor first to rest and change into dry clothes. You can go pay respects before the spirit later. The manor... has already prepared mourning garments."
His tone was flat, and the words "mourning garments" were spoken with particular clarity.
As soon as his words fell, the two heavy wooden gates slowly swung open inward, revealing the deep, unfathomable courtyard behind them.
A damp, cold draft, carrying a thick, stale odor, surged out, blowing against the seven people outside the gate.
The seven players finally understood part of the background of this instance. So, the reason they were "returning home" was to attend the funeral of Master Shen, their nominal father.
Xu Xi could sense the almost synchronous change in the auras of several teammates beside him the moment the old man mentioned "paying respects before the spirit" and "mourning garments"—a kind of instinctive wariness similar to prey stepping to the edge of a trap.
He looked up at the gloomy sky. As the old man turned sideways to invite them in, he lifted his foot without hesitation.
Traps or not, step on them first and talk later.
Xu Xi taking the lead stunned the others.
Tang Shutong's expression unchanged, was the first to step forward and follow.
Yu Hao, who had at some point suppressed his smile, lowered his gaze solemnly and followed closely behind.
Xing Ge's brows were tightly knit. His gaze lingered for a moment on the open doorway and the steward's profile before he stepped inside with a tense face.
Shi Weiwei lowered the arms she had been hugging. Hang Ze rubbed his arms, muttering, "This wind is really unpleasant," then followed behind Shi Weiwei, one after the other crossing the threshold.
Finally, Lin Zuo withdrew his gaze from the sky, let out a soft sigh, and also followed.
The gate swallowed the last figure and closed silently, completely cutting off the rain outside.
The rain seemed to grow denser, falling along the lintel, converging into a small wet patch before the threshold, like some silent boundary marker.
*
Inside the manor was another kind of gloomy silence.
The corridors were winding, the light dim, with only a few lanterns hanging under the eaves emitting a faint glow.
The courtyards, rockeries, and plants they passed along the way were all shrouded in the misty rain, shadowy and indistinct.
The entire manor was excessively quiet. Apart from the footsteps of their group of eight, no other sounds could be heard, as if it were an exquisite yet lifeless shell.
Just then, a clear voice suddenly shattered the silent atmosphere.
Hang Ze quickly walked up behind the old man, yet subtly maintained a certain distance, and called out tentatively, "Steward?"
The old man's steps didn't pause as he responded, "Does Fifth Young Master have any instructions?"
Fifth Young Master?
This title and ranking made everyone's expressions shift slightly.
Hang Ze wore a heavy expression, his voice lowered. "I still can't believe Father is gone just like that. How could it be? I didn't even have time to fulfill my filial duties at his feet."
He asked with genuine emotion, his face timely displaying just the right amount of sorrow and confusion, as if he truly were a son who had just heard the bad news and found it hard to accept.
Walking on the other side, Xu Xi couldn't help but think to himself, *Wow, everyone's an acting genius here.*
The guy who looked the most unrestrained and unruly could act with such vivid realism.
And his way of fishing for information was quite skillful too.
The steward's umbrella-holding figure stiffened for a moment, but he still didn't turn around. His flat, monotonous voice drifted to everyone's ears along with the rain.
"The master... passed away three nights ago, in the ancestral temple... When the servants found him, it was already... *sigh*!"
He spoke very slowly, each word seeming carefully weighed, yet also as if hard to utter, exuding a kind of intensely suppressed horror.
"The ancestral temple?" Hang Ze pressed, the curiosity in his tone almost overwhelming the feigned sadness. "Why would Father go to the ancestral temple in the middle of the night, and alone?"
The others pricked up their ears, but only heard, "This old servant dares not presume to speculate about the master's affairs."
Hang Ze, unwilling to give up, wanted to ask more when he saw the steward abruptly stop walking.
"The east wing rooms are here." The steward turned sideways, pointing at several young servants in bluish-gray short jackets who had silently appeared ahead. "Over the years, this old servant has always arranged for servants to clean the young masters' rooms. Young masters, please follow these servants to change your clothes."
Then he gestured to the two female players.
"Young ladies, please follow me. The rear courtyard has always been managed by Seventh Concubine. Presumably, the young ladies' rooms are also prepared."
The gazes of the seven people briefly intersected in the dim light.
The separation came too quickly; this was clearly not good news.
Shi Weiwei and Tang Shutong exchanged a glance, then chose to follow the steward's lead.
Xu Xi followed behind a docile, subservient young servant, heading towards one of the wing rooms.
The servant's footsteps were extremely light, almost soundless. He led the way to an inner room, pushed the door open, then stepped aside, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him, and said respectfully,
"Third Young Master, please rest for a while. This servant will go fetch mourning garments for you now."
Third Young Master?
So, he was ranked third.
He just didn't know what ranks the other players had, and whether this ranking had any significance.
Xu Xi pondered these questions while grunting an acknowledgment.
After the person left, he began to survey the room.
