The chirping of insects is chilling.
It's late by the big lake.
On the Willow Bank.
A soft breeze and a full moon.
When Zheng Qing was hit by a curse from deep within the forest near the lake, the two elders watching the battle didn't pay attention to him.
They were discussing matters that had nothing to do with the youngsters' fight.
"So you called me out in the middle of the night just to watch two kids fighting?" the Old Fishman's thin hand stroked his smooth walking stick.
In the moonlight, the carved carp on the top of the stick seemed to twist its body contentedly.
Elder Ferna looked at the carp carefully, shaking his head without hesitation.
"Of course not," the old janitor leaned on his wooden stick, nestled against a thick horizontally growing branch of a big willow tree, his tone somewhat relaxed: "Actually, I called you because I wanted to ask about something else."
