"Son, Mrs. Xiao."
Ping'an suppressed the discomfort in his heart and stood on the periphery, quietly observing everything before him.
Inside a two-entry courtyard, the vermilion gate had already collapsed, and the gray bricks, tiles, and carved window lattices revealed the wear and tear of time.
Inside the open door, clothes from the wardrobes were casually discarded all over the floor, drawer contents were scattered everywhere, and the bed was stripped of its bedding and pillows.
Cabinets and the bed were moved aside, and the quaint old-style suspended floor was pried up piece by piece; the ancient tiles were stepped on and flipped onto the ground, shattering into piles of rubble.
Soil from overturned flowerpots was scattered everywhere, ashes from the stove, the dust under the floor...
Both inside and outside, the place was a complete mess, almost a ruin.
