The coffin board was three inches thick, but it couldn't stop the hungry man from eating the delicious food.
Jiang Wanning tore off the last shiny chicken leg and raised it to the black-lettered tablet in front of her that read "The Spiritual Tablet of the Little Marquis of the Lu Mansion" as if it were a toast.
"Little Marquis, don't blame me. Your dowry wine is like horse urine. I really can't drink it. This roast chicken has crispy skin and tender meat, but it's a little cold. You watch it first, and I'll taste it for you."
She muttered in a low voice, as if chatting with an old friend, completely ignoring the pale cloth in the mourning hall and the black lacquered wooden coffin that had been parked for three days and already had a faint ominous smell.
The cold seeped into my knees along the stone tile floor. After kneeling for a long time, my legs were already numb.
But compared to the numbness in my legs, the emptiness in my stomach was more torturous.
In order to "marry" her, she had been hungry for two days. If she didn't eat something, she would not be able to wait for the funeral, so she went down to report to her "dead husband" whom she had only met once.
