In the lands of Chu south of the Huai River, the late autumn wind had turned bitterly cold and damp. It swept over the scorched earth stretching as far as the eye could see, stirring up dust mixed with the ashes of grass and trees and the stench of blood. The setting sun, like a gigantic, filthy copper coin, hung heavily above the lead-gray sky screen, casting a fierce orange-red glow over this ravaged land.
