Night, outskirts of Lu City.
The bright moon hangs alone, its gentle light covering the ground.
The ground seems to be covered in a layer of silver frost, shrouded in a faint mist, while occasional owl calls come from the dense, dark forest nearby.
In an open space, Zhang Kui holds a small bone flute the size of a palm and gently blows into it.
The sound is small yet sharp and piercing, like the cry of some animal, floating in the air and spreading farther and farther...
After a while, something seems to flash beneath the moonlit night, and soon, a small head pops out from the treetops.
It turns out to be a yellow weasel with shiny fur, wearing a little vest sewn from coarse cloth, its eyes rolling around as it looks down.
This little thing seems to hesitate for a moment, then darts from the tree to the open ground like lightning, bowing repeatedly to Zhang Kui like a human.
Zhang Kui puts away the bone flute, his eyes slightly focused.
