The next morning, dawn had barely broken, carrying a hint of autumn chill.
Yang Jing woke on time and opened his door. There was already movement in the courtyard.
His older cousin Yang An was busy in the kitchen. Spirit fish bubbled away in an earthenware pot, its rich aroma drifting through the gaps in the window and spreading through the crisp, cold air.
Yang Jing discreetly looked Yang An over. Wearing an apron, he was focused on feeding firewood into the stove, an honest smile on his face. Every so often, he hummed a few tuneless notes. Clearly, he knew nothing of what had happened last night and had noticed nothing unusual.
Reassured, Yang Jing went to the well in the corner of the courtyard to wash up.
He splashed icy well water onto his face, instantly dispelling the lingering drowsiness and leaving him refreshed.
By the time he finished washing, Yang An had brought all the food to the square table in the main room.
Steam rose from the spirit fish in the earthenware pot, and a fine layer of oil droplets floated on the milky-white broth. Beside it sat a plate of tiger meat cut into large chunks, gleaming a rich reddish brown. Another plate held the horse meat left over from last night, reheated in the pan and served again. A large basin of coarse rice still stood at the corner of the table.
"Jing, come eat. The spirit fish soup is just right. It's wonderfully nourishing."
Yang An pushed the pot toward Yang Jing, then picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of horse meat, and ate it with his rice.
Yang Jing answered, ladled himself a bowl of spirit fish soup, and took a piece of tiger meat.
The spirit fish was tender and