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... h, at the village where houses, trees, and bamboo groves intertwined. Wisps of cooking smoke drifted up, birds chirped in the treetops, and dogs barked from behind wooden gates. ’If it weren’t for the poverty,’ she thought, ’this mountain behind me, this village before me, and this water beside it would be a beautiful scene straight out of a poem or a painting.’
She walked on, lost in thought, trying her best to recall the way to the old ancestral hall from her fuzzy memories. ’It’s no u ...
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