As they drew closer, the village gradually came into clearer view.
It was a small village of perhaps a few dozen households. Most of the houses were built from adobe bricks and roofed with thatch, crude in the extreme.
A crude fence of sharpened wooden stakes and thorny branches encircled the village, with only a simple entrance left on the side facing their approach.
At that moment, several figures could be dimly seen at the entrance, peering nervously outside. They seemed to be holding pitchforks, woodcutting knives, and similar implements, their guard tightly maintained.
"It's Great Yang Village. We're here," Shen Ming called out upon recognizing the village. "We're constables from Linhe County. We were delayed on the road and have come to ask for shelter from the miasma."
Upon hearing that they were officials, the figures behind the fence shifted, seemingly relieved, though they did not lower their guard.
An elderly man who looked like a clan elder came to the entrance with a burly man supporting him. By the light of the torch in his hand, he carefully examined Shen Ming and the others.
"Is that really Master Shen?" The old man narrowed his eyes and recognized Shen Ming, his vigilance easing slightly. But when his gaze swept over Chu Mo and the others behind him, a trace of doubt remained. "And these gentlemen are...?"
"These gentlemen are...?" Shen Ming was about to introduce them when his words caught in his throat.
He suddenly realized that he did not know the names of the men behind him and could only offer a vague explanation:
"They're skilled, righteous men passing through. We encountered demons on our journey, and it was only thanks to their help that we escaped with our lives."
The old man nodded in understanding. Shen Ming