"Mother, why is the lantern hanging at that house white?" A young child asked with confusion.
"A white lantern is hung when someone in the house has died. Don't look any further, let's get home quickly. Also, remember what I'm telling you, always take a detour when passing by here in the future, or else, you may get involved with unclean things." The mother, who had just returned from the vegetable market, led her little girl home through another route.
At this moment, a week had already passed since the death of Zhang Yongfu.
During this week, not only did Zhang Bo's illness not improve, it worsened significantly.
"Chang Qing, you've worked hard during this period," Zhang Wenshi said, looking haggard. If it wasn't for his newborn son, Zhang Zaiqu, being exceptionally healthy, the heavy burden of all these events might have crushed him.
