At the edge of the mountains, where the roads grew thin and the world seemed to forget itself, there lay a small village.
It had no name worth remembering.
Travelers passed it without stopping. Merchants avoided it entirely. Even wandering cultivators rarely spared it a glance.
There was nothing here worth taking.
—
The houses were built from old wood and stubborn hands, patched and repatched until the original structure was barely recognizable.
The fields stretched out beyond the village, dry and uneven, their soil cracked from seasons that had long forgotten generosity.
Harvests were never certain.
Hunger, however, always was.
—
And the people…
They survived.
That was all.
—
Smoke rose lazily from a few chimneys as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in dull shades of orange and fading gold.
The light did not feel warm.
It only marked the passing of another day.
—
A few children lingered near the village well, tossing small stones and chasing each other with what little energy they had left.
Their laughter was light—but brief.
Even joy here did not last long.
—
One by one, doors closed.
Families gathered inside.
Food, if there was any, would be shared carefully.
Silence would follow soon after.
—
At the far end of the village stood a small hut, pieced together from uneven planks and scraps of cloth.
It leaned slightly to one side, as if it had long since given up trying to stand straight.
—
Inside, Lin Mo crouched beside a clay stove, blowing gently into the weak flame beneath a dented pot.
The fire flickered, threatening to die.
Then, stubbornly, it steadied.
Barely.
—
"Come on…" he muttered softly.
"Just a little longer."
—
The pot held little more than water and a handful of rice grains.
Too little to call a meal.
But enough to fool the stomach for a while.
—
Behind him, a faint cry broke the quiet.
—
Lin Mo turned immediately.
—
On a small woven mat, Lin An'an lay wrapped in a thin cloth, her tiny face scrunched as she cried.
Her voice was weak—but persistent.
—
"I know… I know."
—
He stood and walked over, gently lifting her into his arms.
"You're hungry."
—
Her cries softened as he rocked her slowly.
Her small fingers curled around his sleeve, gripping it tightly—as if afraid he might disappear.
—
Lin Mo adjusted his hold, careful and practiced.
"You'll eat soon," he whispered.
"I promise."
—
He said it every day.
Sometimes it was true.
Sometimes… it wasn't.
—
His gaze drifted toward the corner of the hut.
—
Shi Yue lay there beneath a thin blanket.
Still.
Too still.
—
A faint rise and fall of her chest was the only sign she was alive.
—
Lin Mo walked closer.
"…Did you wake up?" he asked quietly.
—
For a moment, there was no response.
Then—
Her eyes opened slightly.
Clouded.
Unfocused.
—
"…Mo?" she whispered.
—
"I'm here."
—
Her gaze settled on him, though it seemed to take effort.
"…It's cold."
—
Lin Mo frowned.
The fire was burning.
Weak—but present.
—
The room shouldn't have felt cold.
—
Still, he adjusted the blanket around her, tucking it more securely.
"You should rest," he said.
—
Shi Yue didn't argue.
She rarely did anymore.
—
"…I had a dream," she murmured faintly.
"…but I forgot it."
—
Lin Mo paused for a moment.
Then shook his head slightly.
"That's fine."
"Just sleep."
—
Her eyes closed again.
Her breathing slowed.
—
Lin Mo remained there for a while, watching.
Counting each breath without realizing it.
Making sure it stayed steady.
—
Only when he was certain… did he return to the stove.
—
The rice had begun to soften.
A thin layer formed on the surface.
—
He added a little more water.
Stirred.
—
Stretch it further.
Make it last.
—
A soft knock came from the door.
—
Lin Mo froze for a moment.
Then relaxed.
—
It was too gentle to be trouble.
—
He opened the door.
—
Old Man Wu stood outside, leaning heavily on his cane.
His face was lined with age, his eyes sharp despite it.
—
In his other hand was a small cloth bundle.
—
"You haven't eaten yet, have you?" the old man said.
—
Lin Mo hesitated.
"…It's enough."
—
Old Man Wu snorted.
"That pot of water you call food?"
—
He shoved the bundle into Lin Mo's hands.
"Take it."
—
Lin Mo looked down at it.
Then back up.
"…You don't have much either."
—
"Exactly," Old Man Wu replied.
"That's why I know what it looks like when someone has even less."
—
Before Lin Mo could answer, another voice cut in.
—
"You're still arguing?"
—
Auntie Fang stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron.
—
She reached over and adjusted Lin An'an's cloth without asking.
"This child needs proper food."
—
Lin Mo lowered his gaze slightly.
"…Thank you."
—
Auntie Fang waved her hand dismissively.
"Don't thank me. Just make sure she grows strong."
—
Her tone softened just a little.
"…Children shouldn't have to cry like that."
—
For a brief moment—
No one spoke.
—
From further down the path, a few villagers glanced in their direction.
Then quickly looked away.
—
Because at the entrance of the village—
figures had appeared.
—
Three men.
—
They walked without hurry.
Without concern.
As if there was nothing here that could resist them.
—
Zhao Hu led them, a wooden stick resting across his shoulders.
Liu San walked beside him, his eyes moving across the village like he was counting something.
—
Conversations died.
Doors closed.
Windows shut.
—
A heavy silence settled.
—
Auntie Fang's expression hardened.
"…They're early today."
—
Old Man Wu exhaled slowly.
"They've been coming more often."
—
Lin Mo said nothing.
—
His fingers tightened slightly around the cloth bundle.
—
"…Go inside," Auntie Fang said quietly.
—
Lin Mo nodded.
—
He stepped back into the hut.
Closed the door.
—
The fire crackled faintly.
The pot simmered.
—
Outside, footsteps approached.
Slow.
Steady.
—
Inside, Lin An'an stirred in his arms.
Shi Yue remained still in the corner.
—
Lin Mo sat down beside the stove.
—
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
—
He simply waited.
—
Not for help.
—
But for what came next.