On the Xiayuan Festival in 1998, it rained terribly. Zhang Qinyuan's mother was lying on the bed. Her amniotic water had broken for three days, and the blood-soaked mattress evaporated sweet heat in the adobe room. The flood outside the house has reached the threshold, and wheat straw and dead pigs are floating in the turbid yellow water. However, grandfather Zhang Shouyi squats in the main room, using cinnabar to draw crooked spells on yellow paper.
Reader comments
Not bad, the plot is compact, this is my first time watching it 👀
Not bad, the plot is compact, this is my first time watching it 👀