The deceased was a ninety-year-old grandmother, and coincidentally, the African man who did five hundred push-ups that day was her grandson.
At this moment, he knelt in the ancestral hall, crying loudly, "Grandma, grandma! How can we live without you?"
No technique, all emotion.
In the countryside, funerals aren't that elaborate: set up a table, play the suona, perform the rituals, keep the body in the hall for two days, and then it can be carried up the mountain on the third day.
Ji Tian had stayed in this village for three days, and most of the villagers recognized them by now, knowing they were here to film a show. Curious eyes measured them up momentarily.
Under such scrutiny, Quan Jingyou felt a bit uneasy. He walked over to Ji Tian and whispered, "Sister Tian, even if you're hungry, let's wait for the banquet this afternoon. It's still early, and the feast isn't ready yet."
"Think big; we are here to make money."
Quan Jingyou: "…"
