There are no graves on the stone steps up the mountain, only some old acquaintances who once died here.
Fang Xing didn't offer any incense either. Hands clasped behind his back, chin tilted up—people say the dead are to be respected, but his bearing was way grander than any dead man's. His steps were just a bit slow. Each time he passed a spot, he'd pause there for a moment, then look off toward some empty patch of nothing. He didn't speak, just stood and looked for a while, then moved on. The Yaochi Little Princess followed curiously at his side and, in her heart, silently counted. He passed a total of ten such places. At some he lingered longer, at some shorter. He stayed the longest at the eighth spot. In the end he went straight up to the peak of Fengshan Mountain. There was clearly a square there, imprinted with ancient, simple Runes, the brands not yet faded, as if something had once been placed there.
