Dawn broke over the village of Lingxi, soft light spilling across the tiled roofs and narrow dirt paths. The small huts clustered at the base of the Cangyun Mountains seemed tranquil, but Li Rong knew that appearances often deceived. Whispers had begun trickling through the village: rumors of the outcast Ger moving through the mountains with a wounded man.
Li Rong moved deliberately among his small vegetable plot, checking the shoots of nettle and garlic he had planted. He adjusted the irrigation channels, dug small trenches to capture rainwater, and examined the soil for nutrient-rich patches. Each movement was precise; his modern understanding of cultivation informed every action, though he had only simple tools and limited resources. Even the small details — leaning a stick to support a fragile shoot or placing stones to prevent soil erosion — carried a purpose that villagers could not perceive.
From the ridge, Wen observed, still cautious with his recovering body. He noted Li Rong's meticulousness and calm authority. Even in exile and outcast, he imposes order where others would stumble. His scars twitched slightly in the sun as he shifted, but he did not complain. Instead, he cataloged Li Rong's actions silently, learning both his character and his thoughtfulness.
By mid-morning, Li Rong noticed a patch of nettle wilting despite the soil's moisture. He knelt, rubbing the leaves between his fingers, analyzing the cause. "Too little sunlight in this spot," he murmured. "We can shift the smaller shoots to higher ground and rotate the rest. It will recover." Wen watched him work, impressed by the calm decisiveness in every action.
Outside the hut, villagers whispered in hushed tones. "The outcast Ger is meddling with plants again… he even dares walk with a stranger in the mountains!" "Touching another man — what is he thinking?" They gossiped, eyes darting toward the hut's perimeter, tension and curiosity blending.
Li Rong ignored them. He knew the importance of subtlety and social navigation. Every movement and decision respected not only life and survival but also the delicate balance of village perception. He adjusted the fire, prepared a simple bowl of coarse grain porridge, and reminded Wen to sip carefully. Even sustenance is responsibility.
By afternoon, Li Rong guided Wen toward the herb patches at the edge of the mountains. He demonstrated how to identify edible wild greens, pointing out subtle signs of toxicity and freshness. Wen followed attentively, his weak body bending only when necessary, his eyes scanning Li Rong's hands and gestures. Even in vulnerability, he teaches without condescension, observes without judgment.
A sudden flutter of wings startled them — a crow alighting on a branch, its caw echoing across the ridge. Li Rong paused, scanning the surroundings. "Always observe beyond what is obvious," he murmured. "Danger or opportunity is often hidden in small signs." Wen's eyes met his, and for the first time, he allowed himself a faint, approving smile. He teaches without words, acts without fear, and cares without hesitation.
As dusk fell, the mist rolled down from the mountains, brushing the edges of Lingxi village. Villagers whispered still, but Li Rong and Wen were enclosed in their small world of observation, care, and quiet cooperation. Every action — tending crops, preparing food, gathering herbs — had reinforced trust and dependency. Social norms loomed, but their shared understanding transcended simple judgment.
Li Rong adjusted Wen's blanket before night fully settled, brushing his fingers lightly over the faint scars on his arms. Even in weakness, he is worthy of care. Wen's gaze lingered on Li Rong for a moment longer than necessary, acknowledging not just protection, but empathy, foresight, and subtle moral courage. In the quiet of the mountains, a bond solidified: deliberate, precise, and quietly profound, setting the stage for trials yet to come.