Worshipping the Dead (Please Subscribe)

Only after entering the Chen Family Estate did Meng Zhao realize that it was actually a rather expansive residence. Judging by its layout and dimensions, it should have been a four-courtyard compound. It could be considered a household of middling to upper status, capable of supporting dozens of servants and maintaining the estate's daily dignity.

Yet now, the Chen family's grand residence was steeped in desolation and decay. Not only was the overall environment utterly devoid of people, with a chill—even a coldness—seeping from every corner, but weeds ran rampant, and all manner of filth stained the courtyard walls. No one had cleaned or maintained the place; its decline was plain to the naked eye.

The lame old man walked ahead without a word. Though he dragged one crippled leg behind him, he leaned on a sharpened spear shaft that had been cut in half and moved quite quickly, soon leading Meng Zhao and the other two to a large room in the central courtyard.

The doors of the room stood wide open. Mourning tablets of black writing on white paper were pasted to both door panels, while white lanterns hung high overhead, bringing a little light to the originally dark surroundings and illuminating the interior. It had vaguely been arranged as a Spirit Hall.

Before they could approach the room, a yellow-haired mongrel darted out from within. Its teeth and years were both advanced, and its spirit was clearly weary and weak. Yet in the face of the unfamiliar Meng Zhao and the other two, it still bared its fangs, displaying intense wariness and even aggression.

Close behind the yellow dog came a little boy of around seven or eight. Dressed in mourning clothes, with a strip of white cloth wrapped around his head, he emerged solemn-faced with a