When the morning breeze in the forest pushed the dull chime of the ancient bell from the peak of Linlu Mountain into the East Fence Small House.
Zhao Rong had already opened his eyes.
He jumped out of bed like a carp flipping in water.
He pushed open the window, facing the vibrant morning sun on the distant mountain, squinted, and took a deep breath.
Feeling full of energy.
Zhao Rong rubbed his belly, muttered something, and then threw on a buttoned shirt to go wash up.
Before long, he was in the kitchen tinkering with a pot of "bingtang," which is noodle soup; he filled himself up with most of it, leaving the rest in a bowl on the stone table in the courtyard.
All set and satisfied from a good meal, Zhao Rong hooked a small book box with his fingers and left the house.
Jia Tengying, still drowsy, poked his head out of the door, staring in a daze at the steaming bowl of noodle soup and the slightly closed courtyard gate.
