The cold mist had yet to scatter, and the early winter morning air was bone-chillingly cold.
In the small courtyard, Zhao Hu was busy arranging bamboo strips, his movements a bit slow. Each breath he exhaled condensed into a plume of white mist.
Chu Fan was still lying on his plank bed, wrapped tightly in an old quilt, fast asleep.
He had practiced his fists for too long the previous night, leaving his muscles and bones sore and weary. He was still lost in a deep, dark slumber, completely unaware that day had broken.
Suddenly, a series of urgent knocks shattered the silence.
"KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!"
They came one after another, persistent and unceasing.
Chu Fan was jolted awake.
He heard a somewhat familiar voice from outside the courtyard. "Brother Zhao Hu, are you up? Something terrible has happened!"
Zhao Hu put down the bamboo strips, got up, and opened the gate. It was his neighbors, Zhang Laoliu and Zhu A-si.
