Wang Yongzhen had become docile, and no one was tending to her as everyone was too busy.
Now it wasn't in the unfamiliar Qi City but in her hometown, where every relative and acquaintance would come to mourn.
Wang Laozhu's children, as well as his grandchildren, had to kneel in front of the spirit tablet. When someone came to offer condolences, they had to kowtow in thanks.
The stream of visitors was unending, and their waists never had a chance to straighten.
Although Old Granny Zhang did not have to kneel, her role wasn't easy either—she had to wail in the room next door. Whenever a visitor came in to offer words of comfort, she had to cry out her sorrow afresh.
Not many people had come yet, but her tears had dried, and her throat was sore. There was nothing she could do but endure.
Wasn't this how peasants' funerals were always weathered?
