Siheyuan: Jia Zhang chorou pela minha morte, eu reagi com um tapa
Ao atravessar para o pátio de 1960, começo gravemente doente e à beira da morte, sendo considerado morto por todos os “animais” do pátio, que cobiçam minha pensão e minhas três casas de tijolos? Qin H
“Cough, cough… Am I dying?”
Chen Mo lay on the rickety wooden bed, feeling waves of weakness surging through his body.
It had been three months since he’d crossed over into this siheyuan in 1960.
The body’s original owner was an orphan, his parents having passed away early and leaving him to scrape by on a meager pension.
A few days ago, he had suddenly fallen gravely ill, a high fever burning without relief, leaving him little more than skin and bones.
“Chen Mo! Chen Mo, are you still alive?”
Outside the door came the familiar voice of Qin Huairu.
Chen Mo squinted; what was Qin Huairu doing here now?
“Huairu, do you think Chen Mo’s done for?”
Jia Zhang’s shrill voice followed immediately after.
“Mother, keep your voice down. What if he’s not dead yet?”
Qin Huairu lowered her voice, but Chen Mo heard every word clearly.
“Not dead? He hasn’t left his room in three days. He’s definitely finished,” Jia Zhang said, unable to contain her excitement.
“This house has three full rooms, and there’s still the pension.”
Chen Mo sneered inwardly. So, they’d finally come.
These two leeches—he wasn’t even dead, and they were already eyeing his inheritance.
Knock, knock, knock!
There came a rapping at the door.
“Chen Mo, we’re here to see you. Open up, won’t you?”
Qin Huairu’s voice was plaintive—anyone unaware of the truth might really believe she cared.
Chen Mo struggled to sit up, murmuring faintly, “The door… it’s not locked.”
The door creaked op