Chapter 184: Visiting the Grave
“I dreamed of his mother.”
Lester Liew wrapped himself tightly in the quilt, pitiful and helpless, as he confessed this to Clara.
At first, Clara thought he was cursing.
Then she realized—it was the curse the Mo family had spat earlier, and Lester, through sheer self-suggestion, had actually dreamed of the deceased Mdm Mo.
They say if you’ve done nothing wrong, you don’t fear ghosts knocking at your door in the dead of night. Lester’s reaction clearly showed he had a guilty conscience.
The cold wind howled outside. Clara gestured for Adam to shut the door and reassure the younger ones.
Adam obeyed, and when he came back he pulled on an extra coat, closed the door, and naturally climbed onto the bed, squeezing under the quilt beside his father to share warmth.
Perhaps from fear, Lester clutched Adam tightly against him.
Adam froze a moment, then lowered his gaze, embarrassed.
Clara sat across from father and son, curious. “What did you dream of?”
Lester stammered for ages, unable to describe it clearly—only that it was terrifying. She’d grabbed his throat, cursed him to die wretchedly, said she’d come to claim his life.
In the past, Lester had never once dreamed of his late wife. This first time unsettled him deeply.
Clara listened to his muddled story, then yawned. “That’s it? I thought it’d be something thrilling. That’s all?”
She stood. “Adam, back to your room.” She beckoned, pushed open the door, and left.
“Wait!” Lester panicked. He couldn’t stop Clara, so he hugged Adam tighter. “Good son, stay with Father tonight, let’s keep each other company.”
Adam: “...”
But hearing his father mention his birth mother, the boy’s heart was stirred, and he nodded faintly. Father and son asked Clara to shut the door for them, then lay back down under the quilt together.
Clara shook her head, expression exasperated, but closed the door for them anyway.
With less than two hours before dawn, she caught a shallow nap, then rose for her morning exercises.
By the time she finished, only then did the earliest riser, Lester, stir faintly in his room.
It seemed that nap had done him good.
The mill had little work left. All the hired workers had been dismissed home. When Clara went by, only Carpenter Liew and his son were inside, painting.
The leftover custom orders due after the New Year were nearly finished, ready for delivery after the Lantern Festival.
Seeing Clara, Carpenter Liew sighed. “We’re not going to have to close down, are we?”
“What, you look down on small orders?” Clara teased.
He shook his head quickly. “Of course not! We started with odd jobs back in the day. It’s just—the sudden quiet after such busyness, I’m not used to it.”
Inspecting the millstones, Clara smiled calmly. “It’s fine. A break will do us good. After the fifteenth, I expect many people will bring their mills in for repairs. We’ll be busy again soon.”
Wooden waterwheels often broke down. Her own small water mill needed a thorough inspection every half month.
The main issue was the environment: no cement to smooth the water channels, no wire mesh to filter debris, so the wheels often jammed.
But she had already tasked Carpenter Liew with crafting bamboo filters. His bamboo work—like the charcoal braziers he’d woven earlier—was excellent.
Only, such cheap raw material items didn’t fetch a high price. Clever villagers could already make them themselves.
“Don’t worry. Let’s wait and see. Perhaps good news will come,” Clara said before leaving.
After all, Gavin White had taken fifty sets of mills south. If the feedback was good, their business would thrive. If not, it would mean demand was low, and stopping early would cut their losses.
Carpenter Liew knew he couldn’t rush things. Better to do well what was before him—he had a house to build, too, and that would keep him busy.
When Clara returned home, she found Lester had already cooked, and had set aside two fatty chunks of pork belly in a green porcelain bowl, placing it carefully in a bamboo basket.
Inside the basket were incense sticks and paper offerings.
“Aunt Clara,” Adam spoke nervously, “we’d like to visit our mother’s grave.”
Clara blinked at Lester. Conscience, now? Since when had he grown one?
She turned to Adam. “Bring a sickle. Clear the weeds around the grave while you’re at it.”
She thought for a moment—she’d never gone herself, and was curious to see what Lester would do. So she asked the children, “Would you mind if I came with you?”
Adam’s face lit up. “Really?”
He’d thought Clara would dislike the idea, but not only did she agree, she wanted to go along.
Clara nodded and asked again if they were willing.
Of course they were! Adam and Ben nodded so hard their necks nearly snapped, beaming with joy.
So, after their late breakfast, the family of six set out with offerings and tools toward the southern foot of the mountain.
This was the Liew clan’s ancestral land, where generations lay buried.
But since Lester had sold his share of ancestral ground to Frank Liew, Mdm Mo’s grave had been left alone on a small hill opposite.
The closer they drew, the stranger Lester’s expression became.
It was as if he had never been there before. He stared in shock at the sunken mound barely distinguishable from the wild weeds around it. His feet rooted to the spot.
“How did it end up like this?” he muttered.
Clara, too, was surprised. The grave was pitifully neglected.
She shot Lester a sharp look. “You really should have more nightmares.”
The burial mound was shabby. With no money, Msm Mo had been hastily buried. Old Walter Liew, ashamed, had begged Carpenter Liew to make a wooden marker.
Now, weathered by wind and rain, the characters had faded, the wood rotting. Clara thought if she pinched it, it would crumble into dust.
Adam had come secretly to pay respects now and then; scraps of burnt paper offerings lay among the weeds.
Chad and Deb stared at the grassy mound, then turned to the adults, eyes full of confusion.
They didn’t understand what the grown-ups were doing here. Adam and Ben said their mother was here, but they couldn’t see anyone.
Ben, helpless, patted their heads. “Stay close. Don’t wander.”
Adam pressed the sickle into Lester’s hand. Lester seemed to wake from his daze, and father and son began silently clearing the weeds together.
Ben unpacked the offerings, laying them out carefully. Then he straightened the fallen wooden marker, wiping the dirt from it.
(End of Chapter)
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