Dawn split the early morning light, and the still night retreated before the rising sun—another day had begun.
When the first ray of sunlight touched Xiulote's face, it seemed to resonate with his body, and the youth opened his eyes.
In an age without clocks, the rhythm of the body was the most accurate timekeeper. The samurai also woke up one after another, slowly bringing life to the village. After a simple wash and some cold food, Xiulote bid farewell to the village elder and set off with two hundred warriors on the return journey.
The homeward mountain path was winding and rugged, barely wide enough for four or five people to walk abreast; it was a trail blazed by supply teams. The army advanced along the edges of the hills. Rolling hillsides on either side were complemented by dense trees, among which the red birds sang cheerfully.