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his heavy boots echoing over ancient stone paths, kicking up dust clouds in the morning sun.
    They passed through several elaborate courtyards, and Tonglong led ShaoShu through a series of low buildings that had no roofs. Along every wall were neat rows of square stone plaques about the size of his head. The plaques were covered in Chinese characters, and beneath each was a narrow shelf. On a few of the shelves sat tiny vases containing dried flowers. ShaoShu wondered when they would come across gravestones, like he'd seen in other places, but there wasn't a single one in sight.
    Soon they stopped in front of a small ornate building about seven paces long by five paces wide.This one did have a roof but no doors or windows. Intricate statues as large as a man had been hewn from the black stone walls, seemingly bursting forth from the living rock. There were three, all disturbing variations of the same horrible creature—a mantis.
    ShaoShu swallowed hard.
    “Impressive, isn't it?” Tonglong said.
    ShaoShu nodded.
    “The mantis has been my family's symbol for many generations. It is fast, intelligent, and more than anything, efficient. Just like my father. Just like
me.
“
    A chill ran down ShaoShu's spine. He felt like someone—or something—was watching him. He stared at the building, and high on one wall, he noticed a circular recess that contained a painting of a particularly vicious mantis. It was tearing a small bird to pieces.
    ShaoShu looked away and said, “Your father is buried in there?”
    “Buried? No. No one is buried in this cemetery. That is not our custom in this region. We cremate our dead, burn them to ash. The remains are collected in an urn and entombed.”
    ShaoShu pointed to the roofless buildings behind them. “Is that what those squares are for?”
    “Yes. Behind each plaque is a small space that contains an urn. The shelves are for placing offerings. Those buildings contain generation upon generation of hundreds of families.”
    “But your father has a whole building to himself?”
    “That's right.”
    “He must have been very important.”
    “He was, indeed.”
    ShaoShu looked at the ornate black building again. “How come he doesn't have a shelf?”
    Tonglong chuckled. “We place his offerings on the ground, facing the painting of the mantis with the bird. Open the sack, and you can help me.”
    ShaoShu cringed but did as he was told. He untied the sack, and a foodlike scent that he couldn't identify wafted forth.
    “What is that smell?” he asked.
    “Smoked beef tongue. It was my father's favorite.”
    ShaoShu made a sour face.
    “Don't worry,” Tonglong said. “You won't be eating it. It is intended for my father's spirit only, like everything else in there.”
    ShaoShu began removing the rest of the bag's contents, growing more confused with each item. Besides the smoked beef tongue, he pulled out a small cask of wine, three dinner buns, three apples, three robes made of thin colorful paper, and several blocks of thick paper folded and painted to resemble bars of gold and silver.
    Tonglong arranged the food and wine on the ground, then picked up the paper items and the empty sack. He led ShaoShu to a nearby fire pit that had a small lantern burning next to it, even though it was broad daylight. Tonglong put the items down andneatly unfolded one of the paper robes, laying it on the fire pit's cold ashes.
    “They say even spirits need new clothes and money,” Tonglong said. “People burn these likenesses to satisfy those needs. It is a way of showing that you have respect for your ancestors, respect for your past.”
    Tonglong picked up the lantern and opened it, lowering it to one corner of the paper robe. The robe burst into flames. As he began to unfold a second robe, he looked at ShaoShu and nodded toward a sunny courtyard. “Why don't you wait for me over there? I am going to meditate now.”
    “Yes, sir,” ShaoShu said, glad to be getting away from the smoke and the