Ding Lizhong stepped into the mother-daughter conversation, suddenly overhearing it. His foot paused mid-lift, then he slapped his own forehead, turned, and went into the study...
These mother and daughter, they're beyond saving.
One dares to bring it up, the other dares to agree.
This... Where does this leave propriety?
Daughter, you're not even married yet...
Old Tashan, the heavy snow that fell just before the New Year still hasn't melted after four or five days.
Lin Xiaosu stood on the roof of the second floor, looking at the distant vegetable garden and the firecracker remnants in each family's yard. He inhaled the smell of gunpowder in the air, savoring the unique aroma of a rural New Year.
Every New Year is a mark.
In life, perhaps it's these marks that string together one after another.
The sound of firecrackers marks the passage of a year, the spring winds bring warmth to the home, and each household's bright sun heralds the exchange of new peaches for old charms.
