Lin Wanmo took out a small silver box. Its shape was a little strange, much like a miniature spirit shrine.
Grandpa Shen handed his pipe to Uncle Mao.
Uncle Mao took it, clearly unwilling.
Grandpa Shen snapped, "What, you turning your nose up at me?"
"Who'd dare turn their nose up at you?" Uncle Mao said. "I don't smoke. Your tobacco tastes harsh and foul in my mouth..."
As he spoke, Uncle Mao wiped the mouthpiece with his sleeve several times.
Lin Wanmo opened the box. Inside were dozens of shadow puppets, both men and women.
Uncle Mao lit the pipe, drew a deep breath, and blew smoke over the puppets.
Pale gray smoke enveloped them all. A moment later, the shadow puppets suddenly came to life.
"Cough, cough, cough. It gets colder every year..."
"Why'd you wake us up this time?"
"Doggie, do you miss your pa?"
"Girl, how'd you end up looking like this? Oh dear, you'll be coming to join me soon."
The little room instantly filled with noise. Dozens of people spoke all at once, each saying their own piece and seeking out their descendants.
One of the shadow puppets came up to Grandpa Shen with his hands behind his back and reached out to pat his head. "Doggie."
Grandpa Shen had to lower his head for him.
"Dad."
This was his father, Shen Yongji.
The shadow puppets inside the silver box were the ancestors of River Worker Alley, starting with the very first generation, who had died in the alley.
But people like Xu Yuan's second uncle, who had never inherited the alley's legacy and had left it long ago, weren't entitled to enter the silver box after death.
This was River Worker Alley's Ancestral Shrine.
Uncle Mao's mother kept saying he'd grown so thin,