The winds wept a mournful tune, laden with a harrowing chill.
Clothed in black attire, Li Che wore a douli, his expression extraordinarily grave.
He was accompanied by his great uncle's family.
Bracing against increasingly ferocious snow and winds, they had no time to panic about the conflict that had just erupted in the courtyard; the family only thought to flee to Xu's Wood Carving Shop.
Treading on the bluestone street, due to the snowy weather, there were few pedestrians, most of whom hurried along with their heads down.
Along the way, everyone remained silent, no one spoke.
Suddenly.
Li Che halted in his steps; the snow was pushed into a small mound by the abrupt stop of his foot.
In the hazy blizzard, trails of smoke lingered.
Sounds of clinking, drums, and reed pipes, along with reverent chanting, wove into a bone-chilling, eerie symphony from the other end of the street.
