Great Cold had passed only about a week ago, and there were fewer than ten days left until the Beginning of Spring. These were more or less the coldest days of the year. But with the Spring Festival approaching, Yunhua Residential Area was steeped in an artificially created atmosphere of warmth, making even the evergreen shrubs and pines in the complex garden seem much greener than usual.
At that moment, Zheng Qing was in a secluded corner of the residential area with his family, performing the ritual to welcome the Ancestral Hall.
From an open window in a residential building some distance away came the faint latter half of the "Spring Festival Overture," along with the cheerful voice of a host making announcements—although it was deep winter, the central heating was powerful enough that residents opening their windows for ventilation during the day was nothing unusual.
All in all, everything was so normal that Zheng Qing vaguely had the illusion that life at home would continue peacefully and uneventfully forever.
"The spirit money we bought this year is a little damp... Did you dry it last night?" As Old Professor Zheng lit the spirit money, he questioned Zheng Qing's Father with a trace of displeasure in his voice. "Why is it so hard to light?"
Zheng Qing's gaze followed Grandfather's questioning and fell on the string of spirit money.
The orange flame of the lighter licked at the brightly colored paper, curling up pale blue flames and wisps of bluish-white smoke. Indeed, the smoke from this spirit money seemed a little thicker than usual as it burned.
"I dried it," Father argued. At the same time, he took out another stack of spirit money, brought it closer, and tried lighting it. "I put it on the cabinet above the radiator