The lake was calm and still after nightfall.
The moon hung beyond the mountains, while the fishing village lay in shadows beyond its reach.
A fishing boat slowly glided past, using the Reeds for cover as it secretly approached the village. Feng Ying gently worked the oars, trying not to make a sound. Familiar with these waters, she easily avoided the reefs and shallows. Looking up, she saw that only one household in the village still had a lit window.
The bow scraped against the muddy shore with a soft rustle, and the little boat came steadily to a stop.
Feng Ying looked at the familiar riverbank, her feelings tangled. She had lived here since childhood and knew every stone and every tree, yet she had to sneak back home like a thief.
She went ashore and tied the boat's rope to a familiar wooden post.
She glanced toward her household, then hurried home, deliberately avoiding the house with its lights on.
Rumor had it that those accomplished in martial arts could see in the dark and possessed extraordinary hearing. Feng Ying moved on tiptoe, doing her utmost not to make a sound.
Two village dogs appeared, wagging their tails as they ran in circles ahead to lead the way. They recognized Feng Ying, so they did not bark wildly. The dogs had gotten a little fat—perhaps they had followed people around and eaten far too many leftover chicken bones. If they kept getting fatter, once the village had eaten all the chickens, ducks, and geese, it would be time to eat the dogs.
She quietly returned home. The familiar thatched mud house stood silent; no villains had settled here.
The courtyard gate stood open, and the chicken coop in the corner was completely empty.
She could not help feeling