A mournful wind howled, sweeping over the sea of white that covered the mountain.
All of Vast Mist Peak was shrouded beneath a pall of dark clouds.
"DONG…"
"DONG… DONG…"
A deep, solemn bell toll echoed, ringing nine times in succession.
All clad in white mourning robes, the members of the Song Clan silently emerged from their rooms.
Today, the Song Clan held the funeral for those fallen in battle. From top to bottom, everyone in the clan wore mourning clothes.
They gathered in silence, crowding around dozens of jet-black coffins.
For cultivators, all rites were kept simple, and funerals were no exception. There were no Soul Banners, no Mourning Sticks, not even a single sheet of joss paper—only the sound of relatives' sobs, suppressed to their very limit.
In less than a quarter of an hour, every Song Clan Cultivator on the mountain had assembled. From afar, the procession resembled a great white dragon.
