I visited the family graves on the third day of lunar 2018
with my cousin. Per custom, they were located on the
farmland of the ancestral (Dad's side) village. No immediate
family member lived there anymore. The pot of land was
allotted to a relative who grew saplings on it. Given the
frenzy of development these days, the nearby landscape
changed almost every year and it was hard to say how much
longer our graveyard could stay there. To mark the place,
Dad planted a tall gravestone at the north end of a string
of mounds. Under each one, one or a pair of ancestors slept.

We burnt paper-money and sprinkled liqor as offerings in
front of the graves. I didn't know who they were for except
the last two which were for my grand parents and mom,
respectively. I didn't cry in front of mom's; her memory
didn't come easily with my cousin around.

Once home, I asked dad about the graves. "Four?" he was
supprised: "There were five of them!" He called my cousin
who confirmed that we saw four. "Someone must have knocked
down your mom's." Dad was agitated and it was a long night.

Early next morning, Mr. Zhao drove us to the spot: dad had
to see it for himself. He carefully counted and then pointed
to the mound right behind the stone: "This is for my great
great grandpa and the one you missed!" (The stone had to be
moved to make way for a water channel.) Phew!

This must be a classic example of the scientific discovery
of limited human attention (which I happened to be reading
about in Jordan Peterson's new book). My cousin and I had a
general aim, i.e., the graves of the most recent ancestors that
we knew, and couldn't see what the minds didn't conceived of.
Luckily, dad had a different framework and could see all five.