At the entrance of Shizhuo Village stands a large stone table, its surface carved with a chessboard, and accompanied by six stone stools. Legend has it that during the reign of Emperor Daoguang of the Qing dynasty, two Daoists happened upon this place and were struck with the desire to play chess. They carved the table and stools out of rock and invited little ghosts from all directions to watch the game. One game lasted for three whole days and nights. After the game ended, the two Daoists vanished without a trace, and the little ghosts no longer troubled the villagers. Henceforth, the area became peaceful. Today, all four corners of the stone table are chipped and cracked, its surface eroded and blurred by the wind, and only two of the six stone stools remain. A locust tree has grown next to the original stone table, its roots growing thick and twisted, tilting the stone table to one side. A group of old men and women are sitting under the locust tree, some knitting clothes, some sewing soles of shoes, and some coughing while puffing on dry tobacco. They exchange the occasional word, but they don’t seem to be able to strike up a lively conversation. Even from a distance, it’s somewhat hard to see them clearly because the skin of the elderly blends in almost perfectly with the bark of the old locust tree. Even if you walk up close, if you don’t look carefully, you could mistake them for just another circle of gnarled old tree roots. Zhao Mengyao, dressed in long sleeves, wearing a hat, and wrapped in a silk scarf, walks past this place, dragging her suitcase. The elderly under the locust tree all get up, and even though the newcomer is bundled up without revealing her face, they can still recognize which family’s girl she is by her clothing and figure. "Zhao family girl, are you coming home?" "Why didn’t your grandfather come to pick you up?" "Didn’t your grandfather just leave the village the day before yesterday? Didn’t you return together?" "Have you had your meal yet?" Unlike the usual greetings and concern shown by the elderly in other villages to the younger generation, the elderly here show an extra bit of caution and flattery towards Zhao Mengyao. There is only one Zhao family in Shizhuo Village, living at the eastern end of the village. Nowadays, villagers who have made money are eager to build two- or three-story Western-style houses, yet the Old Zhao Family has not built upwards but instead expanded outwards, layer by layer, turning the original brick and tile single-story house into a large compound with several courtyards. Such a house expansion is against the norms, but the Old Zhao Family not only supports the village’s elderly and childless, but they also adopt abandoned children from nearby areas. If it came to official scrutiny, it would be as if they have opened a nursing home and an infant care center in their own home, so expanding the house couldn’t be faulted. The group of the elderly under the locust tree, in a few years, might have to shamelessly seek refuge in the Old Zhao Family for three meals a day. The Old Zhao Family is not populous. Counting from four generations back, there’s an old ancestor who is currently the oldest person in the village. This ancestor married into the family, had a son, who then had only one daughter, who after marrying, gave birth to twin siblings, one of whom is Zhao Mengyao. Today, the Zhao family has only the old ancestor left, her son Old Zhao, and the pair of twins. Four generations, yet only four people remain. The Old Zhao Family is wealthy. It’s said that during the Republican era, the Zhao family’s old ancestor was invited by a certain warlord to do divination. Later, when that warlord retreated to Tianjin to live in seclusion, he specifically arranged for the old ancestor to be sent back to Shizhuo Village, along with several boxes of gold and silver. After the founding of new China, the Old Zhao Family did spit out some of their wealth, but the village rumor says that the real family fortune was buried underground long ago. Now that the winds have changed, the Old Zhao Family is thriving once again. Even without the hidden gold and silver, the Zhao family’s old ancestor and her son Old Zhao are well-known figurers in the local area for fortune-telling—renowned as diviners. They don’t entertain ordinary clients, and every month or so, they either get visitors from the jianghu in their distinctive attire seeking apprenticeship, or cars and jeeps driving straight into the village. Their earnings are surely not meager. Zhao Mengyao pushes open the family gate and walks through the courtyard. Under the corridor of the east wing, a row of elderly people sit with gray and defeated expressions, not making noise, just quietly staying there. In the west wing is the infant care center, where several mentally disabled children with slurred speech and crooked eyes are playing and frolicking, adding a bit of liveliness to the place, preventing it from being too somber. In both the east and west wings, there’s a strong smell of simmering medicine. If you walked in at this moment, whether they’re old or young, you’re certain to find many lying in bed suffering the torment of illness. It’s common for the elderly to fall ill as they age, and among the abandoned infants, many are males with congenital diseases, which increases the likelihood of early death. Thus, the Old Zhao Family frequently has funerals, opening up spaces, yet it doesn’t arouse much suspicion from outsiders. After all, no one really cares much about the lone and abandoned elders or infants. From a young age, Zhao Mengyao disliked the smell of her home—that stinking, rotten scent often agitated her to the point of madness, making her wish she could burn down that west wing. Even when she got a bit older and understood the purpose of these people, her disdain remained. Fortunately, her great-grandmother was very enlightened, not only allowing her to study but also allowing her to apply to schools in other areas, only hoping that she would bring back a man with a good appearance and deep fortune to marry into the family. "Mengyao, why have you come back?" The person asking is her brother. Although the two are twins, born one after another, her brother Zhao Xilu has a kind of weariness as if he were almost thirty. At this moment, Zhao Xilu is decocting medicine, with a total of eight small stoves arrayed in front of him. His hands each hold a fan, and he is busy working them. In the corner behind Zhao Xilu is a filthy woman, her body shackled in chains. She is mad, spending all day cradling a tattered doll, nursing it. To outsiders, it seems the Zhao family is kind-hearted for taking her in. But in reality, Zhao Mengyao knows that when she first started high school, this woman bore two children for her brother Zhao Xilu, one boy and one girl. The first child did not survive for a hundred days, and the second didn’t even live for a full month.