"Village Chief, that's about it."
"Does the Snow Giant my kid found have anything to do with the giant footprints around the village?"
At the village chief's home,
Zhao spoke worriedly about what Little Zhao had seen and heard, then glared fiercely at Little Zhao looking down: "Anything else you haven't mentioned?"
Little Zhao lifted his head, revealing a pair of reddened eyes, and sniffed with difficulty: "No... nothing else."
The village chief's face looked very grim, deep wrinkles furrowed his forehead as he paced the room with hands behind his back, finally looking at the man sitting on the stool puffing dry tobacco: "Old Mu, what's your take?"
Old Mu, about fifty years old, was tall and lean like an old pine on a cliff, his weathered face etched with deep wrinkles, skin tinted a dark reddish ocre from years of exposure to wind and snow.
