Although he kept saying that he was too tired recently, I turned around and took a car and followed him. But I saw his car turning into the ancestral hall of my old house. Listening to the loud gongs and drums and the resounding mournful music, my heart sank. Could it be... That my dad had an accident? But apparently two hours ago, when my husband and I were on our way to the airport, he called me. I stumbled through the crowd and saw wreaths and paper bundles packed inside. But in the middle of the specially decorated mourning hall, a photo of a dog hangs impressively. The husband's white moonlight was leaning on the woman's arms, crying sadly. Blood rushed to my head, I stepped forward and kicked over the ashes enshrined there. She turned her head and looked at her husband coldly, and asked sternly: "Meng Yunting, have you asked my dad about the funeral for the dog in my ancestral hall?"
