Ruined Courtyard

Chapter 4: The Dilapidated Courtyard

The dull roar and metallic clashing, like stones thrown into a stagnant pool, stirred up a storm in Chen An's heart. He abruptly dropped the half-eaten beast meat in his hand, dashed to the courtyard gate in a single stride, and peered anxiously through the cracks in the wooden planks.

The sound came from the direction of the valley entrance, blocked by layers of jagged rock and dense ancient trees. He couldn't make out the specifics, only faintly sensing waves of chaotic and violent energy fluctuations, accompanied by a barely perceptible tremor in the ground. The beast roars grew unusually frenzied, as if the distant battle had stirred the peace of the entire region.

"Not an ordinary Demonic Beast fight..." Chen An's heart pounded.

That metallic clashing—it was unmistakably the sharp ring of weapons colliding!

So this Primordial World truly had intelligent races capable of forging and using tools. Friend or foe? Would they discover this valley?

The unknown brought deeper fear. He stared fixedly at the direction of the sound, gripping the woodcutter's axe, his knuckles white from the strain.

At that moment, he was immensely grateful to have found this seemingly dilapidated courtyard.

If he were still wandering the mountain forests outside, he would likely have been caught up in this sudden conflict and died without a burial place.

The sounds of battle lasted about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, then gradually subsided into silence, leaving only an eerier stillness in the valley.

The unsettling energy fluctuations also dissipated, as if it had all been an illusion.

Chen An waited a long while longer, confirming no further disturbances, before slowly letting out a breath. But the sense of crisis in his heart only grew heavier.

This world was far more complex and dangerous than he had imagined.

He retreated into the courtyard, no longer in the mood to eat. The distant battle reminded him that this courtyard was his only refuge. He had to turn it into a true fortress as quickly as possible.

Exploring the courtyard for any available resources was the top priority. Yesterday he had only glanced around; today he needed a thorough search.

He first headed toward the main stone house. Sunlight streamed through the hole in the roof, casting mottled patches of light on the dust-covered floor.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

This time, he inspected with extreme care. The walls were built from stones of varying sizes, the gaps filled with mud. They looked very sturdy—aside from the mottled traces of age, there were no obvious cracks.

He knocked on them a few times; the sound was dull, the thickness considerable.

In the corner, a pile of rotten wood. He carefully poked at it with the axe, wary of hidden venomous insects.

Nothing but completely decayed wood fibers and a few woodlice.

The floor was packed earth. He even scratched at it with the axe tip—hard, with no sign of hidden passages or cellars.

"It seems the previous owner really cleared out thoroughly," Chen An muttered, a little disappointed but not surprised.

His gaze fell on the axe and hoe in the corner. Yesterday he had only given them a rough sharpening; today he planned to see if he could restore them more fully.

He picked up the axe and examined the extent of the rust. Most was surface rust, but the back and near the handle were deeply corroded. He found a flatter piece of sandstone, dipped it in well water, and patiently continued grinding. This time, he ground deeper and more carefully, striving to remove every trace of rust.

Sweat trickled down his temples; his arms ached from the sustained effort. But when he saw the axe gradually reveal its original metallic luster, even faintly reflecting his blurred shadow, a surge of accomplishment welled up inside him. The handle was completely rotted; he needed to make a new one.

He stepped out of the stone house and looked at the few low, gnarled old trees in the yard. He picked a branch of suitable thickness and relatively straight, and laboriously chopped it down with the axe. Then he began carving the handle—a task requiring patience and skill. Recalling traditional craftsmen's methods he'd seen in documentaries, he slowly whittled one end of the stick thinner, smoothed it, so it could fit tightly into the axe's socket.

This process took him nearly two hours. When he finally wedged the new wooden handle firmly into the axe—roughly made, but much sturdier in his grip—Chen An let out a long breath. Tools were an extension of survival.

Following the same method, he started working on the hoe. The hoe was rustier and had an odd shape, making it harder to grind. But he didn't give up. He knew he couldn't cultivate a vegetable garden without it.

The tool repairs were temporarily done. The sun had reached its zenith. He ate some roasted meat, drank some well water, rested a while, then turned his attention to the thatched shed.

The shed was even more crude than the stone house—four crooked wooden posts supporting a thick thatched roof, open to the wind on all sides. Inside was empty, just a thick layer of dust and fallen leaves. He walked in and poked the ground and posts with his axe, mainly checking for snake or insect nests. Luckily, aside from a few startled woodlice, nothing unusual.

Finally, the barren garden. This was his hope for the future. He stepped into the waist-high weeds, cut them down with the axe, and carefully examined the soil. The earth underfoot was dark, loose, and felt very fertile when he squeezed it in his hand. He could even smell a faint earthy scent—a sign of vitality.

"What great soil!" Chen An rejoiced. Once the weeds were cleared and the ground lightly tilled, it would be perfect for planting. He even found a few wild, tuber-like plant roots and carefully dug them up—they might serve as food reserves.

The entire afternoon passed in busy work. He cleared the rotten wood from the corner of the stone house, stacking what could still burn under the shed as firewood. Using the newly repaired hoe, he tried turning over a small patch of garden soil. His movements were clumsy and inefficient, but looking at the freshly turned earth, he could almost see green seedlings in the future.

He also used the broken clay pot to draw water from the well, sprinkling the floors of the house and shed to settle the dust, slightly improving the living conditions.

When the sunset once again dyed the horizon red, Chen An stood in the center of the courtyard, surveying the results of his day's labor. Though the courtyard was still dilapidated, it was noticeably cleaner and more orderly, with a hint of human habitation. Neatly stacked firewood sat by the stone house door; the repaired axe and hoe leaned against the wall; a small patch of turned earth exuded the fragrance of soil.

He walked to the well, drew up a pot of clear water, and drank deeply. The well water was sweet and refreshing. Leaning against the well's edge, he gazed at the brilliant sunset clouds, and a strange sense of calm washed over him.

Though the outside world was a primordial wilderness teeming with danger; though he was as insignificant as a speck of dust, his future uncertain—at this moment, in this broken but safe little courtyard, through his own hands, he had temporarily created a small space of his own, a place to catch his breath.

But this calm was soon broken. Just as he was about to return to the thatched shed to rest, the corner of his eye caught something. Near the base of the courtyard wall, on a certain stone, under the last rays of the setting sun, there was a faint, extremely weak glint—different from the surrounding moss and grime.

What was that?

Chen An's heart stirred. During the day's cleanup, he had focused mostly on the house and ground, never inspecting the wall itself too closely. He immediately walked over, crouched down, and brushed away the dust and moss from the stone's surface.

Sure enough! On the rough stone face were carved some extremely faint, broken lines! These lines were very shallow, almost blending into the stone's natural grain. Without light hitting them at just the right angle, they were nearly impossible to detect.

These weren't natural marks! They were man-made!

Chen An's focus sharpened instantly. He carefully wiped a larger area around that stone with his palm, and sure enough, on several adjacent stones, he found similar, even fainter carvings!

These carvings were chaotic, formless—not pictures, not writing. More like... random scratches, or perhaps extremely ancient, long-lost symbols?

Left by the previous owner? Or by something even older?

Chen An tried to connect these scattered marks in his mind, imagining what they might mean, but came up with nothing. They were too fragmented, too blurred.

But this was undoubtedly an important discovery! It proved this courtyard hadn't appeared out of nowhere. It had an unknown history. These carvings might be the only clue.

He stood up and began inspecting the inner side of the courtyard wall more carefully, not missing a single stone. The sun was setting fast; the light grew dim. He had to stop for now, planning to continue after dawn.

Night fell. The campfire was lit again. Chen An sat by the fire, but his mind was entirely on those mysterious carvings. This courtyard seemed not as simple as it appeared on the surface. Did its past hide some secret? And for him, this accidental intruder—would those secrets be a blessing or a curse?

With this new question, Chen An spent the third night in the Primordial World, alternating between keeping watch and light sleep. The distant danger, the nearby mystery—both made this night feel especially long.

(End of Chapter 4)