Fierce Pawn

It was late autumn in the fourth year of Qianning in the Tang Dynasty. The strong wind from Longyou carries fine yellow sand and beats it like a whip on the loess wall of the Red Willow Beach Beacon. The wall of this beacon hanging alone on the border of Ganzhou has been eroded to a disgraceful state, exposing the dry reeds and wheat straw inside. Guo Song squatted in the shade at the base of the beacon, holding a small steel knife for cutting cattle. In front of him, a recently dead yellow sheep hung on a wooden frame. Guo Song's fingers were long and slender, with a thin layer of calluses on his knuckles. He struck the sword very lightly, but with great accuracy. The sharp blade slid along the gap between the sheepskin and the subcutaneous fat, and when it was gently picked, it made a tooth-wrenching "chi-la" sound. No matter how hard he applied, the entire sheepskin was peeled off smoothly, without even a trace of flesh and blood. "Guo boy, your peeling skills look like you have practiced them in the prison of Chang'an City." Li, a veteran lame man sitting crookedly on the mound nearby, was mending a worn-out leather armor with a shiny bone needle. He spat out the grass root he was chewing and glanced at Guo Song's hand with his cloudy eyes. Guo Song didn't raise his head, but skillfully cut the mutton into pieces, and said in a calm voice: "It's just a steady hand, practice makes perfect."