The head was supported by both hands, its face bluish-gray, its eyes hollow and vacant, its mouth twisted crooked.
Yet its lips opened and closed, producing muffled, broken murmurs:
"Con...scription..."
"Fang...Yuan..."
It seemed to rely entirely on hearing. The head held in its hands would occasionally turn slightly.
Its empty eye sockets faced the direction from which the wind blew, as though it were straining to distinguish the information carried through the air.
It could not see. It could only grope through the darkness by sound and some instinctive pull.
Just then, far ahead of its hollow gaze, a tiny, flickering halo of light faintly appeared.
It was the light of an oil lamp.
Now that every household in Fang Family Village had shut its doors tight and dared not light a lamp, that speck of light was like a lone star in the night—exceptionally conspicuous.
The tall figure paused. The head it held tilted slightly, seemingly confirming the direction.
Then it adjusted its posture and took stiff, heavy steps, stopping after each one.
Yet with a clear destination in mind, it slowly made its way toward that light.
The light came from a dilapidated mud-brick house at the end of the village.
Inside, a riffraff with a face full of flesh and reeking of liquor was drinking himself into a sullen stupor over a plate of pickled vegetables.
His name was Zhao Laonian, a notorious lazy bum and rogue in the village.
"Damn it! Fucking rotten luck!" Zhao Laonian gulped down a mouthful of cheap liquor. The fiery liquid scorched his throat, but it could not burn away the evil fire in his heart.
"Conscription... conscript my ass! They actually drafted me! Want me to go die? Pah!"
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He