Chapter 330: The North Wind Rises, the Red Sun Tilts

Lei Sanxiang was half-soaked in blood, testing the blade's edge as he walked back, muttering under his breath: "Damn it, this saber's really not easy to use. Should've gone with a battle-axe instead."

Zheng Zhilong said, "The neck may look thin, but there's muscle, sinew, and bone inside. Cutting it clean through in one stroke isn't easy — otherwise beheading wouldn't be a craft." Lei Sanxiang looked at Bailangzai and said, "Right, Seventh Brother, back on Bonshi Island, didn't you cut that eunuch dog's head off in one stroke? Perfect — I'll ask you for pointers tonight. We'll still need it later."

Bailangzai said, "It's simple. The key is that the saber's edge has to follow the right path — twist at the waist and hips, drive force through the whole body, not just the arms." Seeing the two of them look like they'd happily grab a few more death-row prisoners to practice on, Lin Qian cut in: "Stop. Let's go check the camp first."

"Fine, follow me." Having personally chopped a man's head off, Lei Sanxiang was in high spirits, his steps noticeably lighter.

Lin Qian knew this was all forced by war — facing continuous high-pressure combat, with emotions stretched taut, the stronger the fear of losing control, the more one needed to find small, absolutely controllable things to relieve the tension.

And the greater the pressure, the stronger the need for a sense of control, and the more extreme, rigid, and bizarre one's hobbies became.

Every modern general without exception had his own peculiar quirks.

For example, Rommel liked writing love letters to his wife and taking apart engines; Zhukov liked hunting; Patton liked speeding in cars and smoking; Yamamoto Isoroku was addicted to gambling; Manstein was crazy about playing cards.

In war, soldiers could vent their aggression on the enemy, but generals could only stay in the rear, passing the time with speeding and hunting.

Lin Qian guessed that Lei Sanxiang's fondness for leading from the front and chopping off heads was likewise a quirk for relieving stress.

Compared to speeding and hunting, Lei Sanxiang's hobby was far too dangerous.

While inspecting the camp, Lin Qian asked out of nowhere: "I hear that after the army takes a city these days, the men go into town to unwind?"

Lei Sanxiang's body stiffened, and he gave an awkward smile: "It's just rotating garrison duty in the city. Rest assured, Your Majesty — the military police banner company is watching things in town. Nothing will get out of hand."

Lin Qian instructed Geng Wu: "Hand out the letters from home to the soldiers."

Then he said to Lei Sanxiang: "After dinner today, pick two banner companies that performed outstandingly and have them assemble at the central command."

"Yes!" The two acknowledged.

They had just taken Nanchang, and the mopping-up work would take time, so the army was temporarily camped outside the city walls.

Lin Qian had Lei Sanxiang summon all the army's commanders to the central command to discuss military reorganization. These men were frontline officers — their suggestions were far more reliable than ideas cooked up by people in the rear.

Everyone first summarized the gains and losses of the Battle of Huangtiandun, and all agreed that five thousand men per battalion was too large a formation. Even a Mobile Corps General on horseback couldn't clearly see both flanks, making proper command difficult. Better to delegate tactical command down to the Battalion and Company Commander level.

After much discussion, Geng Wu came to report: "Your Majesty, except for the First and Second Battalions, the letters from home for the other four battalions have all been distributed."

Lin Qian asked, "What about the First and Second Battalions?"

Lei Sanxiang said, "Those two battalions are led by Zhang Moye, marching to attack Raozhou. Counting the time, they should be nearing the city walls."

Lei Sanxiang then praised Zhang Moye's performance — at the Battle of Huangtugang, his mission had been merely to delay the enemy, yet he'd stubbornly fought the enemy's five thousand-plus troops to near total annihilation.

Against the Ming army's meat-shield tactics, his performance had also been commendable — he hadn't let his troops suffer losses, nor had he slaughtered civilians wantonly.

Lei Sanxiang took the opportunity to brief them on the military situation in Raozhou and Jianchang.

Lin Qian left his seat and walked to the tent entrance. It was already afternoon, the weather not too muggy; a warm breeze blew past, making his whole body feel comfortable.

Lin Qian suggested, "Let's go play football."

Lei Sanxiang: "... Anyway, the Prince of Huai in Raozhou and the Prince of Yi in Jianchang — both are troublesome. Unlike that pig of a Prince of Jingjiang... what? Helmsman, what did you just say?"

Lin Qian turned around with a smile: "It's not early anymore. While there's still daylight, let's go play football!"

The moment he spoke, Geng Wu had already taken a football from the personal guards. Lin Qian clapped his hands, and Geng Wu, catching his meaning, tossed the ball to him.

Lin Qian tucked the ball under his arm and walked out of the tent, waving at the stunned commanders behind him: "What are you waiting for? Everyone out!"

"Yes!" The commanders answered in unison.

Lin Qian led the commanders to a relatively flat patch of ground in the camp, set the ball down on the grass, and instructed: "Geng Wu, set up the goals and mark out the field. The rest of you, pick up the loose stones in the area."

"Your Majesty, how big should the field be?" Geng Wu scratched his head.

Lin Qian said airily, "Whatever you like!"

Before long, everyone finished Lin Qian's instructions wearing bewildered expressions. Lin Qian had the commanders gather around and explained the rules of football: "The field splits into two teams fighting for the ball. No hitting people. The goalkeeper can use hands and feet; everyone else can't use their hands. Kick it past the sideline and it's out of bounds — out of bounds means the other team gets possession. Kick it into the goal and you score. Whichever team scores more wins. Got it?"

The football Lin Qian invented was just a game to play around the camp — he wasn't trying to host a World Cup. No penalty kicks, no offside, no corner kicks, no substitution limits, no stoppage time, no red or yellow card system, and no referee needed at all.

But even after this explanation, the commanders still didn't quite understand.

In the early Ming, Zhu Yuanzhang had ordered the army to ban cuju. By the late Ming, cuju had degenerated into a game like shuttlecock kicking, even reduced to a means for courtesans to entertain their clients. Apart from both using the feet to kick, it had almost nothing in common with the football game Lin Qian had invented.

Lin Qian laughed: "No matter. You'll understand after kicking it around a bit."

He then divided the commanders into teams — nine on one side, eight on the other. The numbers were uneven, so Lin Qian had Geng Wu join the side with fewer players.

Then Lin Qian kicked off from midfield. Amid the commanders' utterly dumbfounded expressions, he clumsily dribbled forward, booted the ball in, and pumped his fist in celebration.

Next round, Lin Qian dribbled again. None of the commanders dared to block him. He broke through like a hot knife through butter and passed the ball to Tang Qing, the Battalion Commander of the Mountain Division. "Take the shot yourself!" Lin Qian shouted.

Tang Qing swung his leg, and the ball went in again.

Lin Qian taunted Lei Sanxiang with a laugh: "Two to zero. Third Brother, are you guys any good or not?"

That jab stoked Lei Sanxiang's fighting spirit, and he roared at his teammates: "Damn it! Brothers, get moving!" Next round, the scramble on the field indeed began. Everyone's footwork was clumsy — people would even lose the ball dribbling with no one pressuring them — but that was exactly the fun of watching novices bumble against each other.

Before long, the score was 5:6.

Everyone was panting and drenched in stinking sweat, but their faces were full of excited smiles, laughing nonstop after every goal.

The commotion soon drew quite a few soldiers over to watch.

After Nanchang fell, there was almost no Ming army presence left west of Poyang Lake, and since they weren't marching now, the soldiers had a bit more leisure time. Hearing the noise, they all came out to look, quickly surrounding the football field in layers upon layers.

Lin Qian wiped his sweat as he said, "Geng Wu, you must be tired. Go find a soldier to take your place."

Geng Wu declared with soaring bravado: "Rest assured, Your Majesty, I'm not tired. I could play another four hours!"

Lin Qian was speechless at this, so he had Song Danchu and Xu Fengjie step off and swapped in two soldiers to play instead.

The chosen soldiers, seeing the field full of generals and marshals, didn't dare move at first. Lin Qian didn't force them either, but deliberately passed the ball to them now and then, and only gradually did the two ease into the game.

Afterwards, Lin Qian picked out many more soldiers to come on. By before dusk, he himself stepped off, and the field was entirely soldiers.

With no generals present, the soldiers played without any restraint, even scoring some spectacular goals that drew thunderous cheers from the onlookers — several hundred people shouting at the top of their lungs, a formidable din.

The crowd of soldiers watching kept growing; those in the back even had to build human pyramids to take turns watching.

The new army had inherited its traditions from the Ming army, and the camp had its recreational activities — stone throwing, wrestling, flag grabbing, tug-of-war, and such. These were all personally established by Zhu Yuanzhang, and their purpose wasn't mere entertainment but primarily training.

After more than two hundred years, the soldiers had long grown sick of these little games. Every day was dull and boring, with aggression and energy having nowhere to go. Football — a game of intense physical contest that could vent physical energy, release hot tempers, and build team cohesion — was naturally extremely popular with the soldiers.

If football could be promoted throughout the army, the situation of bored soldiers pining for women would presumably be greatly reduced.

By the time dusk arrived, it was the army's dinner hour. Though the soldiers were still reluctant to stop, military orders were as immovable as mountains—they could not let football delay their meals, so they all lined up to get their food.

The Xia army practiced a system where officers and men ate the same food from the same kitchens, with identical rations for all. Geng Wu handed Lin Qian his portion.

Lin Qian saw that tonight's dinner was rice with cabbage stewed with tofu, plus a small amount of pork belly.

As the army grew in size and supply lines stretched longer, frontline food quality had declined—the meat was pitifully scarce. This treatment was far worse than that enjoyed by the elite household retainers of the Ming army.

But compared to ordinary Ming troops, this meal was already a delicacy of the mortal world. The key point was that as long as one didn't waste food, one could get unlimited refills.

After finishing his meal, Lin Qian ordered tables and chairs to be set up on the afternoon football field. He had two banner companies seated before the tables and invited Liu Jingting to tell stories. Liu Jingting did not decline; he walked slowly to sit before the table and opened his mouth with an opening poem.

"In troubled times, wolf-smoke rises along the frontier walls; rivers and lakes turn storm-dark over Xiao and Xiang.

The Five Greats of Mount Hua contend in skill; three feet of green blade speaks the heart's true tale.

Even common folk harbor ambitions to pacify the state; a man in plain cloth can bear the burden of the realm.

Drawing the bow to shoot eagles—a hero's deed; chivalrous bones and tender feelings, praised for ten thousand years!"

Liu Jingting looked around and saw there was no striking block, so he used his fan handle to smack the table—crack! —and it was remarkably lifelike.

His voice was extremely resonant, carrying far and clear, as if a loudspeaker were placed at his lips.

Lin Qian had originally been discussing in low tones with Lei Sanxiang the matter of deploying troops at Raozhou, but hearing this opening poem, he couldn't help but have his attention drawn away.

And the soldiers of the two banner companies below, hearing this soul-stirring opening poem, all felt their hairs stand on end—the camp fell into utter silence!

In the Ming dynasty, there were many rules for listening to storytelling. One couldn't shout randomly, and one certainly couldn't clap carelessly. After the opening poem was recited, the audience all held their breath and focused their minds—not drinking water, not cracking melon seeds—that was the highest form of praise.

Liu Jingting swept his gaze across the audience, then said in a deep voice: "Honored listeners, sit steady and attend to my words!

Seas change to mulberry fields through many autumns; right and wrong, success and failure, all flow east with the river.

How many heroes' dreams in the red dust of the world—none can match a single drunken rest in this mortal life.

In years past, the great Song fled south, settling in Lin'an. The Central Plains fell, and the Jurchens crouched like tigers north of the river, ever watching for chances to strike south.

On the grasslands beyond the northern deserts, the Mongol tribes grew ever stronger, their iron cavalry gleaming, secretly harboring ambitions to swallow the eight wilds.

In the court, civil officials were idle and military officers indulged; on the frontiers, beacons of war never ceased. Times of chaos are precisely what breed heroes and gallants—and also what witness the most tales of love and longing.

Now, the story goes: not far from Lin'an Prefecture in Jiangnan, there was a place called Niu Family Village..."

The more Lin Qian listened, the more shocked he became. That entire opening stretch—including the opening poem—contained not a single sentence that was his original words.

Good heavens—Liu Jingting hadn't merely polished the story; he had clearly used the framework of The Legend of the Condor Heroes to write an entirely new tale script of his own.

When it later came to Yang Tiexin and his wife, Guo Xiaotian and his wife, as well as Qiu Chuji, Duan Tiande and others speaking, Liu Jingting could completely switch his voice—male and female different, and even the voices of the two women Bao Xiruo and Li Ping were distinct from each other.

And Yang, Guo, and Duan spoke with Hangzhou accents, while Qiu Chuji spoke with a Shaanxi accent.

While speaking, Liu Jingting's hands gestured ceaselessly. Every movement carried the bearing of Kunqu opera yet also had a common street flavor. When imitating Bao Xiruo, his orchid fingers curled soft as boneless; when imitating Qiu Chuji, he used his fan as a sword, its cold light shining ten thousand li.

In a daze, Lin Qian felt as if a movie were playing before his eyes—all manner of characters came and went in succession, and he could even hear the sound of horse hooves and the soft rustle of heavy snow falling to the ground. An hour passed in the blink of an eye, when Liu Jingting's voice turned deep and measured, and he smacked the table with his striking block: "Honored listeners, behold! A fine Niu Family Village, in an instant ruined—heroes fallen... If you wish to know how Li Ping ekes out her days drifting in the northern wastes, and what becomes of Bao Xiruo within the Jurchen court—hear the next installment for the answer!" Then came another smack of the striking block on the table.

Only then did the soldiers wake as if from a dream, yet still utterly entranced.

The other four storytellers Lin Qian had brought stared with wide eyes, unable to look away. Some closed their eyes and swayed their heads, and then someone said in a low voice: "Excellent! Truly excellent!"

Another said: "Marvelous!"

At this moment, a burst of fierce applause erupted from the army. Soldiers strained their throats shouting praise, and the atmosphere in the field became intensely heated.

Only now did Lin Qian notice that no fewer than a thousand people had gathered around—looking out, heads were everywhere, not even a place to stand a needle, and he had no idea how all these people managed to hear clearly.

The soldiers' applause lasted without end, shaking the surrounding barracks until they hummed.

Liu Jingting first frowned slightly, then clasped his hands in salute to the soldiers.

Lin Qian also kept clapping, and said to Ran Qiu: "Good heavens, this story—from beginning to end, it took me only an hour to tell. Master Liu actually stretched one installment to an hour, and the protagonist hasn't even appeared yet, yet it's already this captivating. Truly remarkable."

Ran Qiu reminded him in a low voice: "Your Majesty, when listening to storytelling, the custom is to voice praise with one's tongue—applause with drawn-out cheering is the greatest taboo."

Lin Qian's clapping faltered: "There's such a rule?"

Ran Qiu said: "Storytelling and listening to stories is also an elegant affair. If the audience keeps applauding and cheering without end, the storyteller cannot continue."

Lei Sanxiang said: "The rougher the street-corner venue, the more vigorous the applause."

Lin Qian looked at the soldiers clapping excitedly, then looked at Liu Jingting saluting with clasped hands, and said: "From today onward, this rule must change!" Then he continued to lead the applause.

After a long while, the applause finally subsided, and the soldiers, led by their thousand-company commanders, returned to their barracks in batches.

Even after lying down on their beds, the soldiers were still discussing in low voices the fates of Li and Bao, lamenting for the two heroes Guo and Yang, and talking about slaughtering the Jurchen dogs. Lin Qian said to Lei Sanxiang: "Today's trial results were good. Tomorrow, take the other four storytellers to the remaining battalions; also open up more football fields and encourage the soldiers to play on their own; and playing cards and military chess—promote those as well.

Set up a separate tent for the quartermaster to manage these entertainment supplies exclusively. Soldiers can borrow them for free in their spare time, and when deploying for battle or training, collect them back for unified management."

"Got it." Lei Sanxiang replied.

Lin Qian continued: "Summon Lady Zhang."

A moment later, Zhang Qiao arrived before Lin Qian, performed a bow, and said: "Your Majesty."

Lin Qian said: "Starting tomorrow, soldiers must learn to sing a song before lunch and dinner each day. Once they've learned it, they sing before eating."

"As you command." Zhang Qiao replied in a soft voice.

"Geng Wu, tomorrow send a few men to supervise and ensure the soldiers don't misbehave. At the same time, make sure everyone sings loudly—whether they're on key doesn't matter, as long as the volume is high."

In the following days, the spiritual life of the camp was greatly enriched, and the soldiers' morale was completely renewed. Some units even didn't want to rotate to Nanchang city for garrison duty, because it would delay their football and storytelling.

As for secretly gambling or fighting, those incidents greatly decreased—after all, their energy was being released through ball games and singing, so few were willing to engage in such dangerous violations of military discipline.

Lei Sanxiang, seeing the camp atmosphere improving day by day, couldn't help running over to Lin Qian and saying: "Helmsman, your tricks are truly miraculous! When army morale was slack, even Grand Marshal Qi had no solution, yet you've easily straightened it out!"

Lin Qian laughed: "My tricks are merely Grand Marshal Qi's old methods—I just have more variety than he did.

Regardless, these are only surface remedies. Once we conquer Jiangxi and transfer the new army back for rest and reorganization, that will be the fundamental solution." Since they were discussing the war, Lin Qian asked: "How have the other two fronts been lately? Any progress?"

The other two fronts referred to Huang Hetai's garrison army and Zhang Moye's First and Second Battalions. Huang Hetai was attacking the two prefectures of Jianchang and Guangxin, while Zhang Moye was encamped below Raozhou Prefecture, sweeping through the region east of Poyang Lake.

And after Lei Sanxiang's main force captured Nanchang, it was responsible for taking Ruizhou Prefecture, Nankang Prefecture, Jiujiang Prefecture, and other areas west of Poyang Lake.

Once these three fronts all achieved victory, the entire Jiangxi campaign would be concluded.

Hearing this, Lei Sanxiang cursed: "The Prince of Huai at Raozhou and the Prince of Yi at Jianchang—those two pig-headed princes are no easy customers."

Zheng Zhilong, who was playing military chess with Bailangzai, said upon hearing this: "What? More parasites like the Prince of Jingjiang?"

Lei Sanxiang sighed and said, "If only they were like the Prince of Jingjiang, that would be fine. But these two are damned 'worthy princes'! The Prince of Yi at Jianchang is a soft doughball, let's set him aside for now."

"The Prince of Huai at Raozhou is a hard bone. Before the First and Second Battalions even reached the city, the Prince of Huai gave the Prefect a large sum of money to recruit local militia, repair the city walls, reward the soldiers, relieve the disaster victims, solicit donations from the local gentry and wealthy merchants, and even take in refugees! Damn his hypocritical benevolence, buying people's hearts!" Zheng Zhilong, whose commander had just been blown up by one of Bailangzai's landmines, shamelessly rose to his feet and said, "Really? There's someone like that among the Ming princes?" Lei Sanxiang cursed, "Before I saw the military dispatch, I didn't believe it either. That pig-headed Prince of Huai led his pig-headed clan kinsmen personally up onto the city wall to defend it. The morale of the garrison troops soared—no matter how they were urged, not a single man surrendered!"

The Ming imperial clansmen at the end of the dynasty were a motley lot—there were greedy-to-death ones like the Prince of Fu, stupid-to-death ones like the Prince of Jingjiang, and naturally also worthy ones like the Prince of Huai. In history, the current Prince of Huai, Zhu Changqing, had no record of any misdeeds, maintained harmonious relations with local officials, and even established academies, relieved disaster victims, and trimmed the princely household's expenditures.

When the Qing army marched south, he raised troops to resist and never surrendered, ultimately dying on Dongning Island.

Lin Qian reached out his hand and said, "Let me see the military dispatch."

Lei Sanxiang ordered an adjutant to bring the military dispatch over.

The dispatch reported that Raozhou's terrain was ringed by lakes to the east and west, a river to the south, with only the north connected to land.

When Zhang Moye arrived beneath the walls of Raozhou, he first made the customary call for surrender and publicized the prisoner policy. When that yielded nothing, he ordered an attack on Zhishan, the high ground north of the city, and used the advantage of terrain to destroy most of Raozhou's battlements and gate towers with cannon fire.

The city still refused to surrender, so Zhang Moye bombarded the city wall with artillery for a full day and night, blasting open a breach two zhang long.

The Prince of Huai, Zhu Changqing, donned his armor, gripped a longsword, and personally led the princely household guards to seal the breach. The army could not break through and was forced to fall back.

His forces were currently attacking the remaining walls on the northern section, while the Baiqing navy had also sent Sea Wolf ships to surround the other three sides of the city.

Compared to Ganzhou, Raozhou's walls were far more brittle—they couldn't withstand the relentless cannon bombardment, and the city's fall was only a matter of time.

In the dispatch, Zhang Moye guaranteed that he would take Raozhou within ten days at most.

Lin Qian thought it over. Both the First and Second Battalions were at Raozhou, Zhang Moye was his chosen candidate for commander of the Seventh Division, and that Chen-surnamed 'Leveler King' along with Jiangxi's last stubborn forces were also at Raozhou.

Lin Qian immediately rose and said, "Send word to Bai Qing—we'll go there ourselves."

Several days later, Zhu Changqing, clad in full armor, ascended the city wall of Raozhou.

The Prefect of Raozhou was inspecting the wall and started in alarm at the sight: "Your Highness, your person is worth a thousand gold—how can you risk yourself like this?"

Zhu Changqing paid it no mind. Stroking a collapsed battlement, he said in a heavy tone, "When the nest overturns, no egg remains intact. This prince has made up his mind to live and die with Raozhou."

"Your Highness..." The Prefect's voice choked for a moment.

Zhu Changqing inspected the wall, seeing soldiers with exhausted faces and flagging morale.

Raozhou had been besieged for less than ten days, yet the battlements and gate towers had already been blasted to pieces. The soldiers could only hide their bodies behind the damaged parapets, like rats cowering in the shadows.

Only when the soldiers saw the Prince of Huai and the Prefect arrive did they cautiously poke their heads out and stand up.

Zhu Changqing asked in anguish, "How many soldiers have been killed or wounded?"

The Prefect sighed and said, "Nearly five hundred dead or wounded. Fortunately, we still have the civilian militia and Your Highness's household guards—the city defenses can barely hold... but..." "But what?"

"Lately the rebel soldiers have been scattering surrender leaflets into the city, and quite a few of the civilian militia have already fled under cover of night..."

"How many have fled?"

The Prefect was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Nearly six in ten have run. Those who remain have lost all heart."

Zhu Changqing felt a chill in his heart. He spoke with difficulty: "Has there been any word from the court lately? Any relief troops? Any newly appointed Governor-General?" The Prefect shook his head.

Zhu Changqing let out a long sigh, halted his steps, and gazed out at the Xia army camp beneath Zhishan beyond the city. At that moment the sun was setting, and a rousing cheer rose from the Xia camp.

The sound drifted over from afar, indistinct. Zhu Changqing said to the Prefect, "What are they cheering about?"

The Garrison Commander of Raozhou, who was accompanying them, said, "Reporting to Your Highness, the enemy troops are singing."

"Singing?" Zhu Changqing found it utterly ironic.

Over the past few days, the Garrison Commander of Raozhou had sent scout riders close to investigate and knew that the camp sang a song or two before every meal—over a thousand voices singing in unison, audible from several li away.

"Reporting to Your Highness, the lyrics seem to be about why one should become a soldier and fight. All plain common speech, quite crude."

Zhu Changqing looked at the rebel troops and saw their morale soaring like a rainbow.

He looked again at the soldiers in the city—each one seemed drained of all vitality, as if even breathing took too much effort. The soldiers on the section of wall he had just walked past had shrunk back into the shadows of the battlements and sat motionless.

Zhu Changqing felt utterly helpless. He raised his head to the sky and asked himself: he had never done evil in his life—why was heaven so unkind to him?

For a moment, silence fell over the city wall, making the rebel camp's singing seem all the louder.

The Guard Commander of the princely household guards accompanying him said, "Damn those bastards! Let's sing too!"

Zhu Changqing said, "Enough." With that, he dejectedly descended the city wall.

On the way back to the princely residence, Zhu Changqing deliberately did not ride a horse. As he walked, he racked his brains for a strategy to break the siege.

Just then, a little girl by the roadside was spinning a top and singing a nursery rhyme: "The north wind rises, the red sun sinks, the autumn wind blows chill, the cold cicadas cry..." It was a farming-season children's song describing the transition from autumn to winter—the north wind of autumn heralding winter's approach, the sun gradually lowering, the cold cicadas wailing, the weather turning cold.

But heard through Zhu Changqing's ears, it was filled with bleakness and the killing chill of autumn. A nameless panic seized his heart.

At that moment, the little girl's mother heard the commotion outside, came out the door, and saw an armored soldier standing in the middle of the road. Scared out of her wits, she quickly clamped her hand over the girl's mouth and carried the child back inside.

By the time Zhu Changqing came back to his senses and looked toward where the girl had been, there was no trace of her.

Only a top remained by the roadside. It spun empty for dozens of turns, gradually faltered, and finally toppled over with a clatter.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen