The next day, at the crack of dawn, the sky had just begun to lighten, carrying a hint of autumn chill.
Yang Jing woke up at his usual time and pushed open his door. There was already activity in the courtyard.
His cousin, Yang An, was busy in the kitchen. A clay pot of Spirit Fish was bubbling away, its rich aroma drifting through the window and permeating the chilly air.
Yang Jing observed Yang An discreetly for a moment. His cousin was wearing an apron, focused on adding firewood to the stove. A good-natured smile was on his face, and he occasionally hummed a few lines of a tuneless little song. He was clearly oblivious to what had happened last night and hadn't noticed anything amiss.
He felt relieved and walked over to the well in the corner of the courtyard to wash up.
Splashing the ice-cold well water on his face instantly dispelled any lingering sleepiness, invigorating him completely.
