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阴阳医途
Writeraebm9s
The mountain fog at five o'clock in the morning was still wet and cold. Lin Yan was carrying a canvas bag that had been washed white and stood under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village. At the bottom of the bag were two thread-bound ancient books with yellowed and brittle pages. They were given to him by his grandfather before he died, saying only, "Heirlooms passed down from our ancestors, more valuable than life." In the side pocket was a crumpled two thousand yuan, which his parents had saved up for more than half a year by selling three acres of corn.
The mountain fog at five o'clock in the morning was still wet and cold. Lin Yan was carrying a canvas bag that had been washed white and stood under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village. At the bottom of the bag were two thread-bound ancient books with yellowed and brittle pages. They were given to him by his grandfather before he died, saying only, "Heirlooms passed down from our ancestors, more valuable than life." In the side pocket was a crumpled two thousand yuan, which his parents had saved up for more than half a year by selling three acres of corn.