***
Compared to that day, Cheng's mother looked over a decade older, frail and haggard, exuding a feeling of being utterly spent that was heart-wrenchingly pitiable to see.
"Auntie,"
Mai Xiaomai softly called out.
"Xiaomai, thank you for being willing to come."
Cheng's mother stretched out her hand, grasped hers, and led her into the house.
Cheng's mother's hand felt somewhat clammy, making Mai Xiaomai a bit uncomfortable, so she quickly let go and followed her into the living room.
The living room was shrouded in smoke; on the central Eight Immortals Table, offerings for worship were laid out, and two black-and-white photographs hung on the wall.
The two people in the photographs looked similar but had different demeanors, making it clear they were two different individuals.
Mai Xiaomai's gaze rested on one of the photographs.
