The Visitor to His Grave

The morning mist hung like a thin veil, softly enveloping the cemetery. I carried carefully prepared offerings and walked slowly along the blue-stone path. The dew dampened my canvas shoes, bringing a slight chill. Today's order comes from Master Gresham, a distinguished figure in City A. His son, Micah Gresham, died unexpectedly many years ago, and his grave was chosen on this serene hillside. As a professional grave visitor, I have always been meticulous in my attention to detail. Among the offerings were Micah's favorite osmanthus cakes, which I had queued for at dawn; and a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, their petals still glistening with fresh dewdrops; Beside them lay a letter personally written by Master Gresham, its calligraphy strong and vigorous, yet steeped in unmistakable longing. As I approached Micah Gresham's gravestone, just as I was about to set my things down, hurried footsteps suddenly came from behind me. "Stop!" a sharp female voice shouted. I turned around and saw a woman dressed in a black skirt suit, about thirty years old, her makeup impeccable, but her eyes betrayed an arrogant and domineering glare. Behind her were four burly men in black vests, each wearing a fierce expression. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" The woman crossed her arms and sized me up from head to toe, her tone dripping with disdain. "I am here for grave visiting." I answered calmly, though a trace of unease had already crept into my heart. "Grave visiting?" The woman sneered, "Who told you to come here? This isn't a place for people like you. Get out of here, quickly!" "This is Micah Gresham's grave. I am here to pay respects on behalf of his father, Master Gresham." I tried to control my emotions and took out my phone to show the order details. "Master Gresham?" The woman sounded as if she'd heard a joke. "I don't care who you represent. This place is under our control today. If you know what's good for you, take your things and leave immediately. Don't force us to act." "Sorry, I have my duty; I must complete the ritual of worship." I gripped the offerings tightly in my hand, unwilling to yield. "Duty?" The woman's expression darkened, and she signaled to the burly man behind her with a glance, "Give her a lesson, let her know who's in charge here!" A burly man immediately stepped forward and reached to snatch the basket of offerings from my hand. I instinctively dodged, but he struck the basket with a slap. With a clatter, the Osmanthus cakes scattered across the ground, the white chrysanthemums were crushed underfoot, and the letter fell, stained with dirt. My heart clenched instantly; that was a letter full of deep affection from Master Gresham. "You have gone too far!" I picked up the letter from the ground, gently wiping the dirt off as a burning rage flared within me. "Gone too far?" The woman stepped before me, looking down with condescension. "Let me tell you, I am Helena Dawson, Mr. Chow's personal assistant." "Mr. Chow intends to pay respects to a departed one here. How dare a lowlife like you compete for space with Mr. Chow? If you know what's good for you, leave now, or you'll regret it!" Mr. Chow? A sudden thought flashed through my mind. Master Gresham mentioned to me before that he wanted to introduce a fiancé, apparently with the surname Chow. Suppressing my anger, I took out my phone and, in front of Helena Dawson, called Master Gresham. The call connected quickly, and Master Gresham's gentle voice came through: "Shirley, how is the matter progressing?" "Master Gresham," I tried to keep my voice steady, "I'm in front of Mr. Micah's grave, but a group claiming to be Mr. Chow's men is blocking me. They even smashed the offerings you prepared." After a few moments of silence, Master Gresham's voice grew more serious: "Is that so? Are you hurt?"