The moon was dark, the wind fierce, and all was silent.
The young woman and the old man sat on either side of the mentally handicapped younger brother, one propping up her chin and staring at him, the other with his eyes closed, taking a brief rest. Firelight made the younger brother's face look even more dull-witted. Footsteps approached. The young woman tightened her collar and turned to look.
It was still that same guard, bringing three bowls of hot porridge.
He said, "The Patriarch sent these."
The young woman lowered her head shyly and said timidly, "Our host is truly benevolent."
The guard set down the porridge and cast a pitying glance over the pitiful-looking mentally handicapped younger brother, sighing again inwardly.
In this day and age, even able-bodied young men struggled to survive, let alone an old man and a young girl traveling with a child whose mind was damaged. Who knew how much hardship they had endured along the way? The young woman happily drained her bowl of hot porridge, too desperate to care about the scalding heat. After finishing it, a perfectly measured flush rose over her sallow, gaunt cheeks, and she cast the guard a secretive sidelong glance.
The guard had seen this kind of half-hidden goodwill and veiled invitation countless times along the road. Under the pressure of survival, all propriety and shame could yield. The guard found it pleasing, but did not take the bait or respond. His attitude, however, visibly improved.
The young woman asked him about the Patriarch: "May I ask the name of your honored master? For this bowl of porridge, should I ever have the opportunity, I will repay him even if I must weave grass into rings and carry jade in my mouth."
She spoke in an affectedly