The wind had died. In the village of Huangling, which had once been defined by the constant, abrasive whistling of the dust across the plains, the sudden absence of sound was more terrifying than a roar. It wasn't just a lull in the weather. It was as if the atmosphere had been vacuumed out, leaving a hollow space where sound refused to travel. No birds chirped from the eaves; no dogs barked from the alleys. Even the fire in Liu Er’s hearth seemed to burn without the comfort of a crackle, the flames licking the wood in a ghostly, silent dance.
Liu Er sat on a low stool, his rifle leaning against his leg. He was the only one left who still resembled a man, and even that was a generous assessment. The white fur around his neck was now thick enough to muffle his breathing, and his eyes had t
