Volume One, Chapter Sixty-Four: The Outsider

The night passed without dreams, yet upon waking, he felt a stifling tightness. In a daze, Mo De sensed something pressed over his mouth and nose, making each breath more difficult. Even with eyes open, he could see nothing, only feel a warm pressure enveloping his face. He reached out, and in that instant, his mind snapped awake—his entire being was abruptly alert.

It took considerable effort to untangle Mu Qing from atop him. Once he managed, Mo De stuffed the dead-as-a-log Mu Qing back into her own bedding. For some reason, this scene felt oddly familiar. He glanced at the distance between their bedding rolls—at least five or six meters apart—utterly mystified as to how this little genius had managed to roll all the way into his bed in the first place.

Navigating in the darkness, he packed his bedding into a neat roll, careful not to turn on the light and disturb the sleeping Mu Qing. Slipping into his coat, he stepped off the heated brick bed and fetched a basin of water to wash up. After a night of peaceful sleep, he felt thoroughly refreshed.

Carrying his bucket to the old well, he glanced at the other guest rooms—none had lit their lamps yet. On the western side of the village, however, smoke was already curling up from the cottages; households had begun preparing breakfast. Back inside, he refilled the small water crock with two buckets, then entered the inner room only to discover Mu Qing had managed to flip herself upside down, with her quilt trapped beneath her, one hand clutching her stomach, the other tucked under her head. Her pillow had been kicked to the far side of the brick bed.

“What atrocious sleeping posture…” Mo De muttered inwardly, tugging the quilt from beneath her. He didn’t bother correcting her position; instead, he draped the bright red quilt over her, shielding her from accidental exposure.

Though the village clothes were all long tunics and pants, they were no match for Mu Qing’s chaotic sleep. Her waistband teetered dangerously close to slipping too low, and her top’s buttons were undone, exposing her pale, smooth stomach. The last button holding her shirt together looked as if it might give out at any moment.

Reciting a calming mantra, Mo De sat cross-legged in meditation, focusing on his cultivation to banish distracting thoughts.

…

At the crow of the rooster and the rise of the sun, most villagers of Eastern Sand Village had already eaten breakfast. Now, they gathered in twos and threes at their doorsteps, chatting idly. Years of routine had conditioned them to early rising, but with the village sealed and little to do, many passed time by finding their own diversions.

Cuihua was not among the idle. Unlike the uncles and elders, she had tasks to tend to after washing up—she would help Aunt Liu in the kitchen. The habits of the outsiders differed from the villagers; most would not wake until eight or nine, so there was no rush to prepare their meals. For the villagers, who were used to being busy, any work during the lunar tide was a welcome rarity; idleness made them feel hollow inside.

“That should do it, Cuihua. Go see if the new guests from yesterday are awake. I’ll bring their breakfast over soon,” Aunt Liu instructed, untying her apron and portioning out the porridge and steamed buns.

“Alright!” the girl chirped, bounding eastward to wake the brother and sister for breakfast.

From his meditation, Mo De sensed the lively figure approaching and paused his internal circulation. He parted the curtains to look outside—it was indeed the girl called Cuihua.

“Oh! Brother Mo, you’re already up?” Cuihua had just reached the door when it opened and Qin Mo stepped out.

“What’s the matter, Cuihua?” Qin Mo asked, unsure of her purpose.

“It’s nothing, really. Aunt Liu has breakfast ready and will bring it over soon,” she replied, her voice as clear as an oriole’s song.

“Is Sister Qing still asleep?” Cuihua glanced at the inner room, curtains still drawn and lights unlit, lowering her voice.

“She always sleeps in, and after how hard she worked lately, I let her rest,” Mo De explained, rubbing his nose. Truthfully, it had little to do with being tired; even at home, waking Mu Qing was always a battle.

“Oh, then let her sleep. I’ll bring breakfast over later so she won’t be disturbed,” Cuihua nodded.

“Thank you, Cuihua,” Mo De said with a smile, waving her off.

He returned to the inner room and gently shook Mu Qing’s shoulder, trying to rouse her. “Time to get up—the sun’s up already.” As usual, he coaxed her out of bed.

“Mm… I’m lying on my back, so the sun can’t reach me…” Mu Qing mumbled in protest.

“Then your belly will get sunburned.”

“Cover me, then…”

“Enough nonsense, get up!”

“Just a bit longer… I’m exhausted from last night…”

He nearly laughed in exasperation. Aside from the times she truly was drained after practicing fire passing, Mu Qing’s reluctance to wake was just pure laziness.

“Cuihua will bring breakfast soon. Hurry up,” Mo De issued his final warning, and at last, Mu Qing sluggishly woke.

Once she had her outer clothes on, Mo De opened the curtains, letting the morning sun cleanse her indolence. Watching Mu Qing, now dressed but still sleepy, he shook his head and folded her bedding along with his own, placing them at the side of the bed.

It wasn’t until the aroma of breakfast filled the air that Mu Qing fully revived. With crisp pickles and steaming, fluffy white buns, she was suddenly lively and radiant, with none of the earlier lethargy.

Mo De was long accustomed to this; Cuihua, however, was surprised that Sister Qing hadn’t gone back to sleep—she’d considered skipping a visit today just to avoid disturbing the siblings.

Last night, the village chief had sent word through someone else, advising her not to overly restrict these two guests, as they were different from previous outsiders.

A bowl of hot porridge finished off their breakfast. As they were chatting after the meal, a hurried knock interrupted them. Mo De got up to open the door and saw a little girl in a red jacket with a ponytail dash in. She rushed to the inner room, calling anxiously, “Sister Cuihua, something’s wrong! Sand jackals are back—Old Liu was bitten!”

At once, Cuihua leapt from the bed and raced out the door without a word.

She remembered how, as a young child, she and her father had fled for their lives, and when they collapsed at the edge of Eastern Sand Village, it was the Liu couple who first found them. Her father died from his wounds, leaving the bewildered child sobbing inconsolably. After some discussion, Chief Shang Qingwen and the villagers decided to take in the poor girl.

After burying her father, the villagers took turns caring for the girl, then not yet four years old. Raised on communal meals, Cuihua naturally regarded every villager as family.

“Shall we go take a look too?” Mo De, noticing the red-jacketed girl had not left with Cuihua but was instead watching him and Mu Qing expectantly, caught on and asked tentatively.

The little girl brightened, answering eagerly, “Yes, yes! Grandpa Chief said if the guests want to help, I should show you the way.”

Mo De and Mu Qing exchanged glances, realizing they’d been recruited for the task. But so be it—after all, they’d already enjoyed the villagers’ hospitality, and those fragrant, fluffy buns really were delicious.

They both stepped down from the bed, while the little girl darted outside, clearly in a hurry.

Suddenly feeling light, the girl found herself swept up into the air. She looked up to see the big sister holding her.

“Which way, little one? I’ll carry you so we can go faster,” Mu Qing said.

“My name’s Lingdang,” the girl replied, then pointed northwest. “That way!”

“Hold on tight, Lingdang! Off we go!” With Lingdang in her arms, Mu Qing set off with Mo De, following the child’s direction toward the northwest of the village.

…

The commotion from Mo De and Mu Qing’s cottage roused the other nearby guests. Two doors opened, and three young people emerged, gathering to discuss the situation.

“How come those two can go wherever they want in the village while we’re stuck in this tiny place?” grumbled a youth with earrings and dyed yellow hair. He’d tried several times to sneak into the western part of the village, feigning a wrong turn, but always encountered a “coincidentally” helpful villager who turned him back.

“When you’re on someone else’s turf, eating their food and sleeping in their houses, you follow their rules,” replied a short-haired girl wearing a white facial mask. The blonde girl sharing her room nodded in agreement, also with a mask on.

“It’s just so boring being cooped up in this tiny spot all day. At least you all have someone to talk to. I’m stuck staring at Ziqian’s poker face every day,” the blond youth complained. The man named Ziqian remained expressionless.

“So come play cards with us,” the short-haired girl suggested, shrugging.

“Can you promise not to cheat?” the blond youth eyed the two girls skeptically.

“If you don’t get caught, it’s not cheating,” the short-haired girl declared, hands on her hips.

“Then you’d better go swindle Shaokang and the others. I’m not playing,” the blond youth retorted, hands in pockets as he returned to his room.

He pulled from his luggage a geography magazine he’d read countless times and began reading again.

Inside, the expressionless young man silently gripped his pen, sketching and writing on a blank sheet of paper.