That night, Duan Chaolu was terrified out of her wits. She scrambled back toward her room, sprinting along the path she had just taken. As she reached the corner, she saw a white figure sitting high up on a tree branch. She rubbed her eyes, trying to get a better look.
It was a white dress, long black hair, and beneath the hem of the skirt, a pair of black embroidered shoes dangled back and forth.
Only those dealing with funerals wore such shoes.
Chapter 200