The family of three went downstairs together. Yu Chuanfeng's father was still carrying something.
When they reached the first floor, Yu Chuanfeng's father knocked on the door.
The man who opened it looked to be in his fifties or sixties. His face was ashen. Seeing Yu Chuanfeng and his family, he didn't greet them, only stepped aside to let them in.
The Yu family murmured, "Sorry to bother you," and entered the house in somber silence.
There were two other people inside. One was a woman about the same age as the man who had opened the door; the other looked a little younger. Neither of them looked happy.
A pair of memorial portraits sat in a cabinet in the living room. They showed two elderly people who looked very much like a married couple.
I glanced around and noticed that the things in the house seemed to be in the process of being put away. I didn't see the old woman.
Yu Chuanfeng's parents lowered their heads and began taking things out. The homeowner also started rummaging around, but after searching for a while, all they found was an old pot.
"I'm sorry," the woman said apologetically. "We didn't set up a mourning hall at home. We brought her straight here from the hospital."
"It's our fault. I'll go back and get something..." Yu Chuanfeng's mother hurriedly said.
"No, no, don't bother. You can use this. It belonged to the old woman. We'd planned to replace it this year, get her a new pot and bowls..." The woman's voice trailed off.
The room was filled with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
Yu Chuanfeng stared blankly at the old woman in the portrait as his father pulled him down to his knees.
A cushion had been placed on the floor. Yu