A smudge of white appeared on the horizon. Grandfather Sun was still rubbing his eyes and had not yet opened them. The faint morning light enveloped the grasslands, but it did not improve anyone's line of sight. After the night of wild revelry, the people of the tribe were still subsumed in alcohol and sleep. They probably could not feel the calls of the sun. Gradually, in the tents of the tribe, faint sounds rang out as if many people were waking.
What shocked the people waking was not the rising sun. It was the thunderous sound of uniform horses coming from behind and the chaotic gallop of horses from the front. It seemed that all around them countless riders were drawing closer.
In the morning light, Fan Xian's expression was calm. He glanced at Haitang for the last time. He lifted the little knife she had given to Liangzi from by his foot and slipped it solemnly into his clothes.
