It was winter and the days were short. Farmers woke up at sunrise and went to sleep at sunset. Few villagers were willing to stay awake late at night and burn out their precious candles and oil.
By the time Zheng Fei came back to Xiangqi village, the sky had already turned dark and the already cold temperature had decreased even more and reached a new low. Every time he exhaled, the air in front of his mouth crystallized into white fog. As he trudged through the quiet village, he couldn't help but rub his hands together and curse the weakness of his human body.
Somewhere, an owl hooted and its haunting call broke the quietness and swept through the village. It echoed for a long time until, finally, the sound died down. The owl was hunting. It hooted again. However, this time, the sound was suddenly cut short and replaced by a sharp screech, followed by a loud crunch. Silence resumed. The owl would never be heard again.
