Genie nodded. Luke nodded. “Because,” said Luke, “Heshen’s son, Fengšeninde, died not far from Beijing in 1810, just eleven years after his father. In theory, he would have been buried in a family plot. In theory, the family plot would still exist, and hopefully not far from here. Or, fingers crossed, under here. And Genie said we simply needed his grave.”
And now I nodded. Mainly because there didn’t seem to be much free ground where we were standing, let alone a cemetery of it. And because even I knew that the Chinese venerated their ancestors. Best guess, they didn’t build over them with gleaming skyscrapers. So yeah, near here but not here. “So, where to then?”
We all turned to Genie. Genie stared back at us. There was the slightest of pauses until, “Oh, right. My turn. Sorry.” He to
