The old house on Duijin Street doesn't have many servants, just the cook who usually does laundry and cooking, along with two fellows who chop wood, make fires, and run errands. They've already clocked out and gone home.
In the large house, only Uncle Zhong and Yang Meng remain, keeping each other company.
He carried a steaming, freshly cooked bowl of meat porridge, walking with a limp.
Outside the eaves, fine threads of rain were blowing in. Looking out, the clouds covered the moonlight, with the occasional rumble of thunder rolling by.
"It's going to rain again, damn cold killer weather!"
Uncle Zhong slowly moved to the backyard. Brother Quan didn't have a complete corpse, just a set of clothes and a crown in the coffin, and Master Meng had been keeping watch here day and night, hardly leaving.
Boom!
Lightning snaked wildly, silver gleams spilled to the ground, followed by the rolling thunder.
Drowning out all the noise in the world!
"Master Meng..."
