The fingers brushed against the lock, applying some force to lift it slightly, and the lock tilted at an angle.
The iron chain followed with a rattling sound.
After three to five years of being weather-beaten, even the thick raw iron the size of a thumb had gathered a thick layer of rust, very coarse, the rust scraped painfully against the hand. No one had cleared the weeds in the yard over the years, letting them grow more unrestrained and luxuriant, hiding the once clear path beneath the leaves.
Truly, it's like a wilderness, unrelated to this village.
The old man chuckled self-deprecatingly in his heart, untied the iron chain, and tossed the lock aside casually. The chain fell onto the muddy ground with a dull thud, then he raised his hand to push on the door, and with a creaking sound, the wooden door opened, a waft of earthy and musty smell mixed with vegetation hitting him in the face.
