Even with the Same Root

In the deep mountains of northern Fujian, there is a house named "Hehuan". The door couplets are mottled, the lamps and candles are self-illuminating, and the drums and music never stop. Young scholar Zhou Yan and his partner Shen Gu followed clues from an old notebook from the Republic of China and came to this ancient house that had been abandoned for nearly a hundred years. They saw that the two oil lamps on the offering table were not burning spontaneously, that there were dense knots hanging from the beams, and that the dark room was filled with pottery pots engraved with people's names, with four words written on them: Fat is oil, tendons are core. They originally thought that they were just unveiling an old custom that had ended long ago. Little did he know that the wedding never ended. Everyone who enters the house will be invited into the wedding room with a low-hanging red curtain and become a guest of the next ceremony. Zhou Yan escaped. At least, he thought he had escaped. There's just a red line in the palm of his hand that won't fade away, and a very light drumbeat always sounds in his dreams, as if something is waiting for him to come back. There are some doors that people should not push.