Dao Ling Ji: Jiazi's Catastrophic Transformation

Wuyue Village in the 23rd year of Guangxu's reign was like being thrown into a huge steamer by God. The continuous autumn rain fell for half a month, making the soil soft and the air moist. The old locust tree at the entrance of the village, which requires three people to embrace, with its branches twisted like a dragon, is said to have been "standing guard" in the village for five hundred years. At this moment, the branches are covered with wet spider webs, as if someone has woven a huge gray fishing net, covering the entire village airtight. When the wind blows, the leaves of the locust tree rustle, mixed with the sound of dripping rain, as if there are countless pairs of eyes peering in the dark. In the Lin family's home at the west end of the village, a baby was crying loudly from a low adobe house. The cry was as loud as if it was equipped with a "tweeter", and the penetration was so strong that it even suppressed the patter of rain outside the house. The mother, Ms. Wang, had just exhausted her last bit of strength and her face was as pale as paper. The midwife held the infant child in her arms. However, there was no joy in having a baby on her wrinkled face. Instead, there was a bit of fear of "having seen a ghost", and her hands were shaking slightly. "Dad, come and see this baby..."