The people from the Zhao Family, when watched like this by the villagers of Qili Village, couldn't help their faces turn red, thick-skinned as they might have been.
They glanced at Old Zhou's currently impressive brick and tile house, and Zhao First and the others weren't willing to leave just like that. They didn't know why, but they only harvested two bags of winter wheat last year, and by now, they were almost out of grain.
There was still a while to go before the summer harvest.
Just as Zhao First was about to get tough and throw a tantrum, Uncle Lai couldn't stand it any longer and pushed his way through the crowd. He was quite old and belonged to the eldest generation in the village, and today he was responsible for sitting at the front to collect the condolence gifts.
