The candle flame exploded into a golden flower in the bronze animal head lamp. Chu Feng squatted on the thirty-seventh step of the ancestral temple, paused with the rag hanging in front of the "Chu Zhaoran" tablet, and let the dust fall into his fingers. The old crack in the lower right corner of the tablet is bleeding, like a snake scalded by the sun.
"I've been cleaning it for seven years, why is it so dirty today?" Su Yan's voice came from behind. The talisman strip on the man's one arm moved automatically without any wind, and when it swept across the back of Chu Feng's neck, it aroused a layer of goose bumps.
