Lin Qiao bent over laughing. Lin An, this child, always uttered such innocent words. She pinched his cheek, "Xiao'an, have you been studying well?"
"Yes." Lin An nodded earnestly.
Seeing that he didn't understand her joke, Lin Qiao smiled again and glanced at Song Tingfan, blushing as expected.
"Uncle, how many are left?"
"Two." Song Tingfan reached out his hand to show her.
"Then you go ahead." Lin Qiao patted the crumbs off her body.
...
On the second day of the New Year, they went to the graves to offer incense. Early in the morning, many people headed up the hill. The cemetery of the Song Family's three members was at the foothill, facing south.
The feng shui of the cemetery was excellent. If it weren't the Song Family's land, it probably wouldn't even be their burial site.
As they were about to see the cemetery, Song Tingfan, carrying a basket, stopped for a moment, his eyes red and his lips tightly bitten.
