The booming sound shattered the night, jolting people from their beds. Curiosity burned in their eyes, but most, including the inn owners, hesitated at the threshold, peering nervously from windows rather than venturing out.
But not Qiao Wei.
And also not Zhang Fengxi, because he did not want to make love to a lifeless quilt in Qiao Wei's stead.
Bristling with irritation, Zhang Fengxi followed Qiao Wei out of the inn.
The ruckus took place on the outskirts of the town. A careless hand had sent an oil lamp crashing near a tree, its parched bark and withered leaves erupting into flames that danced like a defiant torch.
A bitter tang of smoke hung heavy in the air as black-grey tendrils, writhing like phantoms, danced from the smoldering heart of the burning tree.
Close to the burning tree, four people were entangled in a clash of weapons -- three against one in a desperate struggle for dominance.
