"The fox sleeps on the grave at sunset, and returns home at night in front of the laughing lamp of his children.
If there is wine in life, you must be drunk. Never does a drop of it reach Jiuquan. "
Qingming comes after Qingming, and paper flowers and smoke are scattered on the graves. The little fox looked at the mound of soil beside the grave and saw the neat little scholar, frowning and kowtowing to the grave.
Once, twice, three times...
A few years after the Qingming Festival, there was an additional figure kowtowing in front of the grave.
There was a hint of smile in the vague words,
"Hey, isn't it just a graveyard? I'm not afraid. Little scholar, aren't you afraid either?"
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Please don't be scared by the title! Xiaosheng's style of writing is actually joyful...
Intention: