A Wild Boar Charge

Shen Hui held the copper coin up to the lamplight and studied it for a moment, then gave a sudden cold laugh.

"Cheap tricks."

With that, he slipped the coin into his sleeve, rose, and headed for the kitchen.

Lu Huan followed him, craning her neck to peer inside.

The kitchen was small, its walls blackened by smoke. Half a pot of wild-vegetable soup still sat on the stove, the clump of yellow fur bobbing on its surface.

But Shen Hui's gaze passed over the stove and settled on a corner at the back of the kitchen.

All sorts of things lay strewn there.

There were swords and sabers belonging to wanderers, farmers' hoes, and a few ragged bundles and travel packs.

Everything had been piled together haphazardly beneath a thick layer of dust.

Shen Hui walked over and nudged the bundles aside with his toe. Several sallow, gaunt faces appeared beneath them.

They belonged to people dressed as refugees.

Men and women alike, they wore scarcely enough to cover themselves. Their limbs were mutilated, and they lay curled in the corner, long since dead.

It seemed they had fled famine only to reach this place and lose their lives to the two weasel spirits, who had taken their meager belongings as well.

Shen Hui stood silent for a moment, then formed a hand seal with his right hand. A flame sprang up at his fingertip.

He flicked his finger. The flame landed on the bodies and spread with a whoosh.

In moments, the bodies became a scattering of white ash. Not even a scrap of bone remained.

Once that was done, Shen Hui returned to the main room and stopped before the two weasel corpses.

He looked down at them for a moment, then suddenly crouched.

Extending his forefinger,