The salty sea breeze carries the swords of the remnants of the Yellow Turbans, and the person in charge of Hai comes on time on the fifteenth day of every month to pay for the road. Fourteen-year-old Tai Shici squatted on the sand and memorized Sun Tzu's Art of War, his palms covered with calluses from sword practice. Mother was grilling salted fish, looking at the two bandits walking in the distance, and whispered that Ci'er's rice would be ready soon. I stood up and patted the sand on my hands, looking at the two figures carrying knives at the entrance of the village - after waiting for a month, someone should pay the bill.
