The ancient house stood on the mountain, three-storied and occupied respectively by seagulls, monkeys, and woodworms. The dilapidated courtyard belonged to the weeds; most of the mottled fences had collapsed, marking the abandoned years of the old house like a timepiece. Whenever the sea breeze blew, the house would groan and whistle, the termite-eaten load-bearing pillars would emit an unpleasant noise, and a few of the green vines that acted as a binder on the outer walls would break.
Seen from the mountain side, it was desolate in the twilight, like a gravely ill old man braving the wind. Despite the ruins, it still retained the dignity of its architecture.
