The villager led everyone through the low, single-story houses, some newer and some older. After turn upon turn, the production crew followed him to a small, cramped, dilapidated house with a roof so full of holes that sunlight shone straight inside.
The weathered wooden doors had shed plenty of splinters and were not locked. With a gentle push, they creaked open to either side.
Everyone could see inside. The house was bare and utterly impoverished. Even the floor was only packed earth, rather than cement or anything else. The furniture was clearly handmade, rough and very worn, perhaps old pieces from when he had married.
The villager lowered his head in embarrassment. His skin was red from the sun; perhaps he was blushing now, but it was hard to tell.
"Sit, please sit. You haven't had lunch yet, have you? I'll go cook you some noodles." He started awkwardly toward the kitchen, then doubled back after two steps and set two large bottles of soft drinks on the table. From the only cabinet, he found a few of the cheapest, thin disposable cups. "Have a drink, have a drink."
These days, people online championed healthy eating, considering soft drinks full of additives and the epitome of unhealthy beverages. But the villager did not know that. In his world, drinks like these were treats brought out only at New Year to entertain guests. He wanted to serve them to these kind people who might very well help his daughter.
No one there moved. For a moment, they all froze.
The villager thought they considered the loose plastic cups dirty. "I-I'll wash them again. They'll be clean after I wash them."
Qi Gu stopped him. "There's no need. They're fine like this."
He stepped forward, took the cups from the villager, unscrewed