She lifted the quilt and stepped on the cold teak floor with her bare feet. His toes touched the ancient runes embedded in the cracks of the floor - they were the deeds created when the Shen family built their house. It was said to be able to suppress the power of the curse surging in the blood. When she was seven years old, she asked her mother what these squiggly lines meant. The mother rubbed her hair and said, Wanwan, this is our promise to heaven and earth. It is engraved in the bones and cannot be relied on.
The smell of fried bacon wafted from the corridor.
Shen Wan gathered up the slipped shoulder straps of her nightgown and walked downstairs. Her footsteps made a hollow echo on the spiral staircase, like knocking on a hollow piece of rotten wood.
In the restaurant, the butler, Uncle Chen, was setting the table. White tablecloth, silver tableware, crimson liquid in crystal decanter - everything is as orderly as a still life painting.
Shen Wan pulled out the chair where she usually sat.
