On a snowy day in the twelfth lunar month, I was chewing fried braised corn beans and stewed on my teeth. I bumped into an old deaf lady admonishing Yi Zhonghai. The whole courtyard knows that this courtyard is not peaceful. I touched half a piece of broken porcelain in my trouser pocket, and there was a line of words engraved on the back. It is said that there are three silver coins pressed under the blue bricks of the well platform in the backyard.
