At night in Niuxin Village, it was the Qingming Festival again.
An endless stream of people burned joss paper along the roadside. Since most of the villagers had migrated from elsewhere and had no ancestral graves to worship, they could only draw a circle by the road, leaving an opening facing their ancestral graves to burn the offerings.
The white smoke mingled with the faint moonlight, making all of Niuxin Village look like an ethereal realm. A solitary red figure emerged from the white smoke.
That was Li Huowang, carrying stacks of joss paper in his hands—piles upon piles of joss paper and gold ingots.
He passed through the village and arrived at the gate of the Bai Family Courtyard, where he lived alone.
Li Huowang stood motionless at the gate. Looking at the white gauze lanterns and the yellow couplets on both sides, he suddenly let out a wry chuckle.
