The incense ashes in my father's mourning hall have not yet cooled, and the shadows of the deep house have quietly closed. Wanqing stood in the corridor of Qinshen Hall dressed in plain clothes, with the key in her hand as heavy as a stone. The husband was drunk in the smoke of the county gambling house, and the uncle on the hospital bed opened his voyeuristic eyes in the darkness. Ideals turn into powder between account books and medicine furnaces. Outside the gate of the mansion, the eyes of the county government secretary Chen's eyes were like sticky spider silk, entangled in the crumbling Zhang family. From a "female wife" to a trapped beast, Wanqing guarded the last dignity of her family alone, but every night she heard the overwhelming cracking sound of beams - this gorgeous cage was slowly and silently sinking into the abyss with her.
