Li Xianglu stood at the entrance of a courtyard, carrying a bundle and sizing up the small courtyard in front of her.
In the early spring, the farmyards in Guanzhong were mostly hung with yellow-orange corn and chili peppers; the yards always housed grinding stones and many corn stalks, and the ground was littered with chicken droppings, filthy.
But this courtyard, much like the ones the rich people would purchase in her previous life, was tidy and clean. The red brick walls on both sides were well-repaired and neat, the gate was not the usual fence door but a proper iron door painted red. On the west side of the small courtyard, there was a stone table with four stone stools, and two cave dwellings. The one on the east side was covered with a small roof that seemed like a kitchen, but was by no means crude—covered entirely with red bricks.
