Cui Jiuyang walked over in a few strides and peered through a gap in the window. What he saw startled him: the room was packed with spirit tablets.
Ancestral halls were rare in Southwestern Shandong and Central Shandong, since people usually honored their ancestors at their own village graveyards.
Some wealthier villages pooled money to build cemeteries, where all the village elders who passed away would be buried.
Even villages that could not afford a cemetery would place stone lions on either side of the path leading to the graveyard.
So why had Dustpan Village built an ancestral hall?
Cui Jiuyang wanted to go inside and look, but found the main doors locked.
This was certainly no time to look for a key. Cui Jiuyang called, "Master Tiger, these doors are locked. Find a way to get them open!"
Master Tiger came over, rattled the brass padlock on the doors, and measured its size with his hand.
He stepped back twice, drew a deep breath, and gave a low shout. A blade flashed, and the brass padlock snapped, falling to the ground in two halves.
Old Hu narrowed his eyes at Master Tiger's deft movements. Without a word, he walked over too.
Cui Jiuyang pushed the doors open and stood in the doorway, looking inside.
The eternal lamp in the ancestral hall had gone out, leaving the interior rather dim. Wooden racks against the walls held at least several hundred spirit tablets.
Every name on the tablets bore the surname Zhao. They apparently all belonged to people from Dustpan Village.
Master Tiger said, "Don't people around here invite their ancestors home from the graveyard for the New Year and other festivals?
"Does this village have different customs from ours?
"They built an ancestral hall to worship their ancestors?"
Cui Jiuyang