Dawn had barely broken, and a thin layer of frost covered the mountain path. Chen Wuya made his way down the slick stone steps, his pace somewhat heavy. His left hand remained hidden in his sleeve, secret tingles of numbness and itch pricking at his fingertips, like trickling currents slowly crawling through his veins. He said nothing, only occasionally raising a hand to rub his brow, as though an invisible stone weighed upon it.
Bai Zhi walked half a step beside him, her gaze sweeping over his profile. She did not ask, but her shoulder tilted slightly as she gently pressed her arm against the crook of his. It was as though she feared disturbing something, yet also as though she were silently supporting him.
Beneath the old locust tree at the village entrance, firelight was already flickering. Lantern after lantern lit up, illuminating the shifting crowd. The village chief stood at the very front, leaning on his cane. Behind him stood men and women, young and old—some wrapped in old padded jackets, some clutching rice and grain bundled in coarse cloth, while one elderly woman carried a bamboo basket containing several freshly laid eggs.
"They're here! It really is them—they've come back!" someone cried in a low voice.
The crowd immediately fell silent, then took a uniform step forward. The village chief cupped his hands, his voice trembling. "You two heroes saved the lives of our entire village. This old man... this old man thanks you on behalf of everyone!"
Before he had finished speaking, his knees bent, and he was about to kneel. Chen Wuya hurried forward and caught his arm. His strength was not great, yet he firmly stopped the bow. He smiled, his voice a little hoarse. "You mustn't. At your age, I should be the