Mother Qi cried all the way to the Qi family's old house, a large-tiled house nestled against the mountain, and quite ancient. When she arrived, a roof tile fell off and smashed on the ground right in front of her, scaring her so much she dared not even cry.
As Qi Jianguo said, the old house had indeed been cleaned, yet it couldn't hide the destitution and dilapidation. As she pushed open the door, a musty stench rushed to greet her. Though the inside had been cleaned, spider webs still draped heavily from the beams above.
After all, it was a house that hadn't been lived in for over a decade, not only giving off a musty smell but also an icy chill, devoid of any signs of life.
Mother Qi shivered all over, and when she lifted her eyes, several portraits hung on the walls. They were paintings of the Qi family's ancestors, figures like great-great-grandfathers, sporting Qing Dynasty braids, looking gloomy and terrifying.
