บท 1992: The Catastrophe (II)

When Zhu Laosan and his son caught sight of the far-ancient morality stele from afar, it was already the afternoon of April 17. The sun that rose from the east had already been hanging over the sky, scorching Zhu Laosan's head. As he had walked and stood too long today, Zhu Laosan's soles had been stinging like standing on a hot-red iron plate. If not he had prepared some dried rations and water in advance, he might not stick to it. 

His 13-year old son's face had turned dreadfully pale. If not Zhu Laosan supported him with one hand, Zhu Guangsi had long fallen to the ground. 

Zhu Laosan felt distressed about his son; however, he couldn't allow his son to sit on the ground. Otherwise, they would be regarded as impious or indecent. In that way, all the efforts that he had made over the past 10 years would be in vain.