The sun had thinned into a pale disc by the time they reached the house again. Dry wind rattled the reeds like brittle bones. Li Yun walked beside Xu Mingyue with a quiet strength—his steps heavy not with bravado but exhaustion held at bay.
MOI waited at the threshold, her projection clearer now that daylight softened. Her shape caught the afternoon light like something carved from still water.
"Administrator," she said, "the dimensional marketplace interface is stabilizing. Low-bandwidth connection available. Procurement restricted to essential Tier-1 categories."
She gestured—a small, precise motion—and a faint lattice of icons bloomed into the air. Tools, purifiers, basic medical kits, small rations. Some glowed warmly; others dimmed at the edges, locked behind mansion upgrades.
Mingyue regarded the display with the same calm seriousness he'd given the famine map.
"Show MT cost," he said.
MOI complied. Each item carried its real-world price beside the mansion's conversion rate. Eighteen MT rattled in his mind like coins in a clay jar—useful, but only once.
Li Yun studied the symbols, brow furrowed. "They're expensive," he murmured.
"Everything worth life is," Mingyue said softly.
MOI turned to him. "Recommendation: prioritize water purification. Current intake among survivors is biologically unsafe. Mortality risk remains high."
Mingyue touched a sachet icon. MOI confirmed the price: 14.3 MT. A painful subtraction, but necessary.
"Confirm purchase?" she asked.
He exhaled once. "Confirm."
The light tightened, flickered—and then a small paper packet appeared on the low table. It did not glow. It did not hum. It simply existed, real enough to change a village.
They carried it down the slope.
The villagers had gathered instinctively, drawn by the curiosity and fear of people who had seen nothing new in far too long. Hu De stood at the front, back stiff, hands trembling slightly.
Auntie Qiao held an empty clay bowl. Behind her, children peeked from behind older legs, eyes wary.
Li Yun stood at Mingyue's shoulder, his posture quiet but unmistakably protective.
Mingyue knelt beside the spring's trickle, the sachet in hand. His movements were slow, deliberate—no sudden gestures that might provoke panic.
The villagers whispered among themselves.
"It's a talisman—"
"No, a poison—"
"City Immortal brought it—Heaven is watching—"
"What if it offends the spirits—"
Mingyue opened the packet and poured the powder into the cup. A faint cloud rose. He stirred, waited, then poured the mixture through layered cloth into a clean pot.
MOI's projection appeared behind him, luminous in the dusk.
Several villagers shrieked softly and fell to their knees. One old man pressed his forehead to the ground.
"Don't look! It's a celestial envoy—"
"Ancestors have come—"
"Cover the children—"
Only Li Yun remained upright.
His steady presence kept the panic from becoming a stampede.
He said nothing—just breathed slowly, and the village breathed with him.
Auntie Qiao approached first. She had seen more births and deaths than anyone here; reverence tempered her fear.
"Sir…" she whispered, voice trembling as she cupped her hands. "Is this… safe?"
Mingyue gently offered the cooled water.
"It will not harm you," he said.
She hesitated—not from doubt, but from ancient fear of Heaven's displeasure—then brought the cup to her lips.
She swallowed.
Her eyes widened. A single tear slipped down her cheek—not emotion, but shock at tasting water that did not scrape her throat.
The crowd gasped as one.
Several villagers collapsed into weeping kneels. A mother lifted her child as if offering thanks to the sky.
Hu De trembled. He stepped forward stiffly, eyes flicking from Mingyue to MOI.
"This… this is not trickery?" he rasped. "Not a demon's lure?"
"It is knowledge," Mingyue said. "And work. Nothing more."
Hu De bowed—deeply, reverently.
His knees shook under the effort of lowering himself to the ground.
"Forgive us," he whispered. "We doubted what we could not understand."
It was a face-slap, but not one of humiliation—
a correction of assumption, delivered through proof and quiet authority.
MOI's voice floated delicately. "Purification efficiency: high. Continue boiling and filtering for sustained safety."
A man at the edge of the group—a gaunt figure with desperation carved into his face—raised his voice in a frenzied whisper:
"If Heaven did not send this, why does the air shimmer behind him? Why does the water change? Why does the… the spirit woman speak?"
Before panic could swell, Li Yun stepped forward.
His shadow fell across the man.
From the front, it was clear how large he really was—shoulders built for carrying harvest loads, arms strong enough to hold collapsing beams, the kind of presence famine could thin but not erase.
His voice was low, steady.
"If this were a curse," Li Yun said, "we'd already be dead."
The man's breath caught. His eyes lowered reflexively.
No threats. No shouting. Just truth expressed through authority the village recognized.
The panic broke.
Villagers leaned in, reverent.
Mothers brought bowls.
A father carried a jug like it was sacred.
Mingyue taught them the steps: cloth, charcoal, boiling.
Auntie Qiao repeated them aloud.
Little Sui memorized each motion with sharp-eyed focus.
Hu De recorded them in the dirt with a stick.
It became a ritual—not magic, but craft, taught with patience.
As dusk deepened, the villagers dispersed to prepare shelters and share news among the scattered homes. The spring trickled under the dimming sky, steady for now.
Li Yun stayed behind.
He stood beside Mingyue, arms folded lightly, gaze fixed on the spring as if grounding himself.
"You gave them hope," he said.
Mingyue's expression didn't shift. "We gave them a method."
Li Yun looked at him, studying his profile—jawline catching the last light, eyes sharp and gentle in equal measure.
"For us," he said quietly, "that is hope."
Mingyue didn't answer immediately. The silence between them wasn't empty; it felt like the settling of stones in a foundation.
Finally, he said, "Tomorrow, we appraise items. We'll need MT."
Li Yun nodded. "I'll search the granary ruins at dawn. Some tools survived. A few pots. Maybe a bronze weight."
"Bring anything with history," Mingyue said. "Anything that carries story."
Li Yun's lips curved in the faintest smile.
"You speak like a scholar."
"And you," Mingyue said, "work like the world depends on it."
Li Yun lowered his eyes—not in shyness, but in something close to reverence.
"…Maybe it does."
When they returned to the house, MOI dimmed her projection slightly, as though lowering her voice.
"Administrator," she said, "survivor morale metrics have increased significantly. Recruitment probability rising. Recommend next phase: resource consolidation and material appraisal."
Mingyue unwrapped the porcelain cup again.
The crack gleamed faintly, a thin silver scar.
He set it on the table, mindful, almost gentle.
"One artifact at a time," he murmured.
MOI nodded.
"Then let us begin extraction of value."
Li Yun watched him place the cup down, understanding nothing of the system behind it—but understanding everything about the weight Mingyue carried.
He stepped closer.
"I'll bring whatever you need," he said simply.
And he meant it.
Outside, the famine valley lay quiet but no longer hopeless.
Inside, the house hummed faintly—the sound of a future unfolding one decision at a time.
The water was clean.
The villagers were steadier.
The first tool from another world had entered this starving land.
And dawn would bring the next step.