The stone steps wound all the way upward. After passing several towering pine trees, the view gradually opened up. The wooden cabin on the mountainside stood quietly at the edge of the woods, several strings of dried corn hanging beneath its eaves. When the wind passed through, they lightly knocked together, making faint, fragmented sounds.
Liu Qingyan reached the door first, set the cloth sack beside the threshold, and pushed open the wooden door. Inside, everything remained as it had been when they left that morning. The iron kettle sat steadily beside the stove, while an old book lay open halfway on the worn wooden table by the window, held down with a pebble so the mountain wind would not scatter its pages.
Shen Xiu stood in the yard and did not enter immediately.
He slowly lifted his head and looked toward the woods behind the house.
The midday sun was blazing, yet the woods were quieter than usual.
There were no birdsong.
Nor was there the rustle of squirrels treading across branches.
Only the soft whisper of wind through pine needles came in wave after wave, flowing down from the mountaintop.
He stood there listening for a while, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly.
Liu Qingyan poked her head out from inside.
"What is it?"
"Too quiet."
Liu Qingyan followed his gaze.
The woods were still the same woods. Shadows of trees overlapped, sunlight filtering through branches and leaves in patches of brightness and darkness. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
She smiled softly.
"Maybe it's noon. The birds have all flown somewhere else."
Shen Xiu did not argue. He merely nodded, walked into the yard, and picked up the bamboo broom in the corner.
The yard was paved with bluestone slabs, covered by a thin layer of pine needles