At dusk, people finished dinner and gathered by their doorways to cool off and chat.
The blind singer who performed beneath the roadside tree year-round plucked his sanxian and warbled away. His aged instrument gleamed with a greasy polish, like some old thing that had been handled by three generations; if there were no oil in the pot one day, perhaps boiling it in there would make droplets of grease float to the surface.
A fat cat lay sprawled atop the wall, squinting at the yellow dog below that barked wildly.
The sun had only just set, and darkness had yet to fall completely. The townsfolk began their after-dinner gossip, talking of the Zhangs next door and the Lis down the lane. Children gathered to hop and skip, laughing merrily together, and there was even a blind man singing free songs for them.
Perhaps the blind singer did not know night had already fallen because he could not see. He simply swayed his head and continued playing and singing.
The quiet was suddenly shattered...
Crash—clatter!
A window in an old roadside shop was suddenly smashed. The neighbors, who had been relaxing outside and deepening neighborhood friendship, froze. The clamor instantly fell silent, and everyone stood rooted in place. Even the fat cat opened its sleepy eyes to look over, wondering what fit had taken that shop.
"Ah..."
The neighbors could no longer sit still. That was a scream—if something had happened to a neighbor, they could not simply stand by!
Many burly neighbors came to the shop carrying Wooden Sticks and rice paddles. No oil lamp was lit inside, and the doorway was pitch-black in the evening gloom. The neighbors hesitated over whether to enter.
This was the shop of an old neighbor, a craftsman whose family had made and