On the morning of the twenty-seventh of the twelfth lunar month, Chen Wanqing was in the kitchen with Mrs. Zhao, steaming flower buns for ancestral worship and offerings, when Chen De'an rushed in from outside.
He called out as he entered the courtyard, gave Mrs. Zhao a quick greeting, and then grabbed Chen Wanqing to pull her outside.
"Sister, hurry! Grandmother isn't going to make it."
The news left everyone, including Chen Wanqing, utterly stunned.
Mrs. Zhao steadied herself against the doorframe. "But didn't someone see her yesterday? The old lady was taking her family to the county seat. She was perfectly fine then. How could she be at death's door just one night later?"
Chen De'an clearly knew something, his expression a mask of complex emotions, but there was no time to explain.
His grandmother was on her deathbed. His sister was the eldest granddaughter, and having married into the same village, it would be improper for her not to go.
