The sky finally turned dark.
In the hall of the Old Zhao Family's rear courtyard, a round table was set, covered with a red cloth. Utensils and wine cups were neatly arranged around it, with eight cold and eight hot dishes in the center.
The hot dishes and wine, if left for too long, would cool down, but they have to be reheated only after the guests arrived.
The ancestor of the Old Zhao Family, Zhao Juanhua, sat in the accompaniment seat, her head slightly lowered, her face somber.
There were other elderly women of her age in the village, but each was already hunched and bent, looking very old. Yet her face barely showed deep wrinkles.
However, when one reaches a certain age, no matter how well-maintained, will still show the signs of that age. To forcibly counteract it would seem unnatural.
Zhao Juanhua's face was excessively white, her forehead protruding, chin jutting forward, lips and nose thick and heavy, making her overly defined features appear out of place.
