"What? My grave?! You!..."
On the summer hillside, the sun's warmth made everything feel cozy. The three little mounds and pits were like homes meticulously dug by a Mexica fox. Upon closer inspection, the pits faced south, the mounds to the north, considerately "facing south." Even on the mounds, there were three abstract little figures, vaguely depicting two adults and a child...
Old militiaman Chiwaco was left speechless, his eyelids kept twitching, and his mouth twitched. He looked at the "auspicious site" chosen by Chipawa, glanced at the little figure representing himself, then turned to his son's earnest face. Trembling, he raised his hand, clenching his teeth hard, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to strike.
"Good son... Father is still alive! For now, I reckon, there's no need for this place..."
"Right! Dad, since you're still alive, and sister is too... tomorrow I'll flatten both yours and sister's graves..."
"You!..."
