Qingqiu Huyin: Secrets of the Ancient Tomb

The mountain breeze in July carries the fragrance of grass and trees. When it passes by the small village at the foot of Qingfeng Mountain, it always picks up a few broken leaves from the old locust tree at the entrance of the village. Lin Xiaoman squatted under the locust tree, fingering the ant nests on the ground unconsciously, feeling full of grievances. He had just had a quarrel with his friends in the village because no one believed him when he said there were glowing foxes in the dense forest at the back of the mountain. They also laughed at him for making up nonsense.