The breach of the hut had been total. With the front door reduced to splinters and the White Spectre leading a literal tide of yellow fur across the threshold, the situation for Liu Er and Tie Dan had moved past the point of desperation. The interior of the house was a swarming mass of predatory intent. The weasels were on the table, the rafters, and the bedspreads, their chattering creating a wall of sound that made it impossible to think. The air was thick with the sweet, suffocating odor of the Spectre’s malice, a scent designed to numb the senses and prepare the prey for the end.
Huang Bantian remained the only stationary object in the room. He lay on his grain sacks, his right foot still throbbing slightly from where the Spectre had inadvertently stepped on his toe. That small, sharp
