Grandma is dead.
He died with a smile on his face.
She left me a message - "Don't open the basement door."
I have lived in this old house for twelve years and never knew there was a basement.
On the night when I returned to my hometown in western Hunan for the funeral, something knocked on the door under the floor.
I should have listened to my grandma.
But I didn't.
Only after the door opened did I realize that everyone in this alley was hiding the same thing from me. The fire thirty years ago burned down more than just a house. And grandma's death was by no means an accident.
The things underground have woken up.
