"Gui Ling, I won't let you die."
Chai Longgui entered the house and picked up the urn from the table.
He left his home from the back and came to another household at the entrance of the village. The house was dilapidated and inhabited by a seriously ill widow, yet she was somewhat attractive.
Chai Longgui, holding the urn, heard several bouts of violent coughing as he entered.
"Gui Ling, are you all right!"
He stepped forward, concerned, and asked while Yuan Guiling's face was extremely pale. She lay weakly on the bed, her fragile appearance a pitiable sight, her beautiful features contrasting sharply with the rundown mud-brick house.
"I'm fine."
She whispered, "Did you find the urn?"
"I did, but I can't get in touch with Lao Chen."
Chai Longgui, not well-off, had remained single for many years, and had always longed for a wife.
