Uncle Zhao led several soldiers at the front, one hand resting on his sword hilt as they cautiously entered the small village beside the Official Road.
The village was utterly silent. More than a dozen dilapidated Mud Houses stood scattered haphazardly together, divided by cross-shaped paths that formed a simple street.
The clattering sounds of Uncle Zhao's group seemed exceptionally clear in this little village.
"Is anyone here?" Uncle Zhao walked to the village entrance and shouted inside.
His voice echoed through the village, but for a long while, there was no response.
"Is anyone here?" he called again.
The village remained silent.
The accompanying soldiers frowned as well. Following his gesture, they spread out and quietly entered the village to investigate.
They checked house after house, passing slowly through each dwelling.
Clatter.
One soldier accidentally bumped the handle of a stone mill used for grinding flour. The wooden handle snapped at once and fell to the ground.
Several gazes immediately turned hurriedly in that direction. Uncle Zhao crossed the distance in a few quick strides and carefully inspected the millstone.
He reached out and touched the broken end of the handle. Fine yellowish-brown wood dust immediately clung to his fingers.
"This village has been here for quite some time. Has any of you been here before? It's close to the Official Road. People passing by should have seen it often enough."
The gathered soldiers looked at one another and all shook their heads.
"I heard my old man mention it once," said a burly soldier in a rough voice. "When he was young, he went to Yan Mountain City and spent a night at some village along the road. Don't know if it was this one."
"Your old man is already sixty. Wouldn't his youth have been decades ago?"