The next morning, just as the faint grey of dawn began to seep across the village and the roosters crowed in uneven voices, Han Yu sensed a presence outside the courtyard gate.
Soft knocking followed.
It was hesitant, almost timid. Nothing like the heavy, urgent pounding of an intruder or the careless slapping of children. It was the knock of someone who wished to show respect.
Han Yu was seated on the woven mat inside the main hall of the guest house, finishing the last cycle of his morning meditation. His spirit sense swept across the courtyard before he even spoke.
The familiar figure of the village head stood at the gate. Along with him were two younger villagers, each holding a wooden tray covered with cloth. The warm scent of freshly cooked food mixed with morning dew and drifted faintly through the gaps of the gate.
Han Yu kept his posture still for another breath, then spoke with Ju Fan's usual cold, clipped tone.
"Enter."
The gate creaked open.
