Uncle Zhao led a few soldiers ahead and entered the small village cautiously via the main path, his hand on the saber hilt.
The village was a scene of stillness. A dozen dilapidated mud-wall houses sat here and there, without any apparent order or planning. In the middle of the village was an intersection of two rudimentary paths.
The sounds made by Uncle Zhao and his band of men were extremely jarring in the deathly silent village.
"Is anybody here?" Uncle Zhao walked to the front of the village and shouted.
His shout echoed inside the village, but there was no activity to be heard or seen in response.
"Is there anyone?" he asked again.
The village remained silent.
Behind him, the soldiers frowned. Dispersing at Uncle Zhao’s hand signal, they tiptoed into the village.
Slowly, they checked every single house, one by one.
"Ka-thump."
A soldier accidentally knocked into the handle of a flour grinder. The wooden handle snapped immediately and landed on the ground.
