After night fell, the trap Meng Zhao had set outside the straw hut's door was triggered. With a clang, the sleeping Meng Zhao woke. He gripped the Life-Stealing Thorn in reverse in his right hand, hiding it along the inside of his arm, his gaze deep as he waited in the pitch-black room for the visitor to reveal himself.
"Ah Zheng, Ah Zheng, are you there?"
A familiar yet unfamiliar voice rang out, and Meng Zhao immediately knew who was speaking.
"San Gouzi, why are you here?"
Li Zheng had been an orphan who lived off the charity of many households. He knew every person in Little Cold Village like the back of his hand—how many people each family had, what their temperaments were like—he had an exact understanding of it all.
San Gouzi, whose real name was Zhang Kang, had it better than Li Zheng, though not by much. His father had died when he was nine, his mother when he was twelve. Now he depended on each other with his aged grandfather, barely scraping by on the help of the villagers.
Since neither of them had it easy and both belonged to the weaker folk of Little Cold Village, they had huddled together for warmth. Their relationship was fairly close, even intimate.
Compared with the somewhat timid Li Zheng, San Gouzi was far wilder—a clever little rascal who loved stealing chickens and dogs, yet had no lack of nerve.
Take highway robbery, for instance. Though Li Zheng was big and strong, he only dared wave the flag and shout, taking a thin share of the spoils each time. San Gouzi, meanwhile, dared charge forward with blade and spear, fighting his way to a share through bloody courage.
Thus, though San Gouzi was not as sturdily built as Li