Chapter 201: "Filial Piety"

The long-awaited Luo Jiafu had finally landed and was now riding a bus back to the town.

After decades away, the place remained exactly as he remembered—backward, poor, and reeking of unpleasant smells. From the moment he stepped off the plane, Luo Jiafu hadn’t stopped frowning. In contrast, the lawyer and assistant accompanying him looked around his old hometown with curious eyes.

There were only a few people on the run-down bus. Luo Jiafu sat in the last row, flipping through contracts the lawyer had prepared, while the latter spoke in a low voice, “Mr. Luo, by regulation, all discovered gold mines are state-owned resources. Individuals can't lay claim to them. However, as long as it isn’t reported, there's room to maneuver. If the village is really as cut off as you say, and those old folks don’t keep contact with the outside world, we just need to handle the film crew.”

“It’s just a broke crew—we’ll shut them up with some hush money,” Luo Jiafu scoffed, then pinched his nose. “What’s that smell on this damn bus?”

The assistant quickly opened the window. Mountain wind rushed in as they passed several minivans on the narrow dirt road, barely wide enough for two vehicles. Seeing Luo Jiafu glance over a few times, the assistant quickly said, “Looks like a funeral convoy, Mr. Luo. The vans are carrying coffins.”

Luo Jiafu spat. “Bad luck.”

The bumpy ride finally came to a halt at dusk. A middle-aged woman shouted in a thick rural accent, “Sòngqīn Village! Getting off at Sòngqīn Village!”

Luo Jiafu waddled off the bus. The moment his feet touched the land he’d grown up on, his heart skipped. He looked at the familiar village houses not far off and at the urn-burial hill hidden in the woods—his chest tightened inexplicably.

Even though he’d left decades ago, even though he’d tried to forget everything, stepping onto this road brought all the memories flooding back. He still remembered every ditch, every corner, and every weed-covered path leading to each family’s house in the village.

As they neared the village entrance, Luo Jiafu suddenly felt a strong urge to turn and leave.

Could Ning Xue have tricked him? But that girl never lied. Back when the gold mine was discovered, she was still young—no way she could’ve known. And he had studied those photos closely, even shown them to contacts at gold shops. They weren’t fake.

Just as he hesitated, a burst of firecrackers erupted at the village entrance, startling the three of them. A group of villagers came out banging drums and gongs, like they were welcoming honored guests.

Luo Jiafu stared until he recognized the elderly man at the front—the village chief of Sòngqīn Village. Behind him were many elders who had watched him grow up, though age had made their faces nearly unrecognizable.

His daughter Ning Xue was also there, giving him an awkward smile.

From that smile, Luo Jiafu knew something was wrong. Before he could react, the village chief grabbed his hand warmly: “Jiafu, it’s been so many years! Welcome back! We’re all moved by your act of filial piety. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure everything today is done grandly!”

Only then did Luo Jiafu notice the funeral vans parked nearby—the same ones he’d seen on the road earlier.

He glanced at his daughter again and finally understood—he’d been set up by his own flesh and blood. But as a proud businessman, he couldn’t afford to back out in front of so many people. Swallowing his pride, he accepted it.

The villagers led him back with celebration to the old Luo family home, already cleaned up for the occasion.

He glanced one last time at the kitchen house from the photos. A few collapsed weeds inside—no gold mine. His hopes were completely dashed.

After greeting the village elders and confirming the reburial arrangements with the funeral crew, the village chief emphasized the importance of an early reburial. The time and date had already been chosen: move the graves tonight and host a banquet tomorrow.

It was almost nightfall by the time Luo Jiafu found a moment alone with Ning Xue. He dragged her into a room and immediately exploded in anger.

Ning Xue held her head high. “You should’ve come back to move Grandpa and Grandma’s graves! You’ve made so much money, and yet your own parents don’t even have a proper burial. Aren’t you ashamed?”

“You don’t understand!” Luo Jiafu was livid. “That’s the custom here! It’s always been that way!”

Ning Xue stared at him, then sneered, “You think I don’t know? That tradition died out with Grandpa and Grandma’s generation. But you still threw them into the urn-burial hill! You didn’t honor them—and now you expect me and my brother to honor you?”

Luo Jiafu’s heart thudded. The image of the day he carried his parents to the dark burial pit surfaced in his mind.

They cried. They trembled. But they never begged.

Because he had told them clearly: this family couldn’t afford a chronically ill mother or a father crippled by arthritis. If they didn’t die, they would drag him down.

“You did that to my grandparents. Why should it be any different for you?” Ning Xue said coldly. “It’s the Sòngqīn custom, right? You said yourself—it's tradition. You and Mom were starving, your wife couldn’t conceive, and you wanted to preserve the Luo bloodline. You told them to rest easy.”

That day, he had thrown his own parents into a pitch-black grave like discarding burdens.

That pit, traditionally sealed one brick a day for a full year, was bricked up in just three days by his hand.

The last time he saw his mother’s face, it was through a small gap before he sealed it. Her desperate eyes had looked at him. She might even have been smiling.

He had looked away, dropped the brick, and sealed the darkness.

He dreamed of that moment for years.

Now, faced with his daughter’s accusations, Luo Jiafu’s shame twisted into fury. He slapped Ning Xue across the face.

She had never been hit in her life. Stunned, clutching her cheek, she fled the room.

Outside, the village chief’s voice called: “Jiafu, it’s time to go up the mountain.”

Luo Jiafu shivered. He remembered saying those exact words to his parents long ago: “Father, Mother, it’s time to go up the mountain.”

They called burial “ascending the mountain,” as if that made it less cruel.

Now, fear churned in his gut. Something terrible awaited him up there. But the villagers were waiting, along with his lawyer and assistant. A reburial was a grand ancestral duty. There was no turning back.

He stepped out, forcing himself forward. The locked room was opened. His parents’ black-and-white portraits smiled kindly, and his spine ran cold.

With drums and flutes blaring, the group headed for the mountain.

Li Zhi walked over to the onlooking director. “Aren’t you going to film this?”

The director gave her a strange look. “They’re doing something serious. Why film that? Our movie’s already wrapped.”

Li Zhi grinned. “You can still get some extra footage. It’s all grave-related scenes—it’ll make the movie more realistic.”

The director slapped his thigh. “You’re right! Xiao Chen, grab the camera—let’s go!”

As evening fell, the horizon was streaked with red clouds.

Atop the mountain, the funeral team had already set up. The mournful sound of flutes and drums swirled with the wind, piercing everyone’s ears.

From behind the crowd, the director set up the camera and whispered to Li Zhi, “This atmosphere feels way more real than any set.”

In the frame, Luo Jiafu knelt before the overgrown burial mound, holding his parents’ portraits. He wailed and wept but never once looked at the grave he had sealed himself.

They lit incense, burned paper, and opened the coffin. The team struck the gong three times: “Time has come. Open the tomb!”

A hammer was handed to him. Only a descendant could break the seal. Luo Jiafu, drenched in sweat, glanced around at the watching villagers—and the camera not far away.

He wanted to stop them from filming, but he had no strength to speak. The final sunset faded; darkness pressed down. Gritting his teeth, he swung the hammer.

Bang—

Bang—

Bang—

Dust flew as the tomb collapsed, revealing a black hole.

“Go on, Jiafu. Retrieve your parents’ bones.”

A voice whispered in his ear. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His heart raced. He bent down toward the hole.

A sudden gust of cold wind rose from the ground. Funeral wreaths rustled, ashes and spirit money flew wildly in the air.

Kneeling, Luo Jiafu suddenly pitched forward—something inside had yanked him.

In an instant, he was dragged into the darkness.

Not a single sound.

Just like his parents, silent as he sealed them in.

The director stared in stunned silence at the footage. The crowd was frozen for a breath—then someone screamed.

And at last, the system voice rang out:

—Congratulations, players. The filming is complete. You’ve achieved a perfect ending to the movie. The “Filial Piety” instance has been cleared. Entering popularity scoring phase. Thank you for watching. See you next episode.

Li Zhi barely had time to grab Li Jianxi’s hand before the scene blurred rapidly. Just before losing consciousness, she felt warm lips gently brush her forehead and something soft being tucked into her hair.

Her vision faded—and when it returned, she was in the pristine white safety room.

Nine people had returned.

As Peacock’s Jingda opened his eyes, he lunged at the remaining two—Huang Jingtong and Zhong Yun, who dodged and raised their hands.

“It wasn’t us! We had nothing to do with Lu Caiwei—it was Jie Zhen and the others!”

Jiang Can sneered. “How convenient.”

Zhong Yun winked. “We weren’t with them. How do you think Chen Jiaoyun disappeared?”