"Jian Zhongzhou, you really don't want to wrap this up, do you?"
When Sheng Siyuan had someone take the old master away, he turned to face the crowd. His gaze fell on Jian Zhongzhou, a high-ranking person's indifferent scrutiny, was just a mass of deep black.
Like the depths of a dark marsh, filled with the scent of death.
Jian Zhongzhou's scalp tingled.
Finally, he no longer dared to stir up trouble and handed the urn to a servant of the Sheng Family's old house before sheepishly waiting in the living room.
"No matter, Sheng Siyuan, even if you put on airs now, at the funeral, you'll still become the laughingstock of all Jiangbei, kneeling in front of me like a dog."
Jian Zhongzhou's eyes flashed with malevolence as he and his wife sat down.
According to funeral customs, after a wife's death, the husband indeed had to kneel before the elders, especially the wife's parents, not just kneel, but kowtow until they helped him up.