A fine day for drying grain, the kind where you don't even have to turn it. In the courtyard, Fang Bai gently …
A fine day for drying grain, the kind where you don't even have to turn it.
In the courtyard, Fang Bai gently swept, gathering stray wheat ears scattered by the breeze. The chicks followed at his heels, scrambling for the drifting chaff kicked up by the broom.
Across the fence, the neighbor's wife called out, chatting warmly but with a hint of warning that the wind's arrival would only make the days colder. Her words meandered, but the talk always drifted back to the fact that he had no soul to keep him warm.
Without missing a beat, Fang kept sweeping, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged the chicks with his foot. "I've got plenty of ‘kin' here, squawking and fussing every day. What a headache. Add one more to the mix, and there'd be no peace left at all. Ah, maybe I should head out to the fields and breathe some fresh air."
He shouldered his hoe and made a swift exit, leaving the neighbors behind, shaking their heads with quiet sighs.
The scattered grains hidden among the furrows were nearly invisible to the human eye, but the sparrows always knew where to find them. As Fang worked the land slowly, he kept an eye on the lively birds flitting to and fro. Whenever one settled nearby, he'd gently wave a hand, sending it fluttering away. Only when they took flight would he stoop to gather the muddied grains, blowing off the dust before tucking them carefully into his pocket.
The last two Lantern Persimmons in the Leisure Garden had just been sold. This same scene has played out for days on end. Fang had grown used to it.
The sky shifted from a deep, velvety blue to a brilliant blaze of orange and crimson as he stared silently at the setting sun sinking behind the hills. Though he missed out on the persimmons, he caught a glimpse of the breathtaking evening glow stretching across the earth.
Lost in the quiet beauty of the dusk, he wandered without noticing where he'd gone until suddenly, a ripe persimmon dropped down, thudding softly against his head. The fruit was overripe, a sticky mess that matted his hair. He cupped the fruit in his hands, searching silently for someone to share this simple moment.
But all that greeted him was the quiet, solitary persimmon tree standing tall against the fading light.
A quiet loneliness drifted with him as he pondered adding an epilogue to the strange tale he'd been weaving. The story told of a spirit beast, its fur faded to a weary yellow, cast into a dog's womb and given the lowly name "Ahuang," yet it never forgot it was born a lion. Though its bones were trapped in a domestic yard, its behavior set it apart: it neither chased cats nor hares, refused scraps and leftovers, shirked its canine duties until at last, it was struck dead by celestial thunder.
Back at the stone table in his courtyard, ink stains still mingled with fallen grains of wheat that the chicks had left behind. Fang pinched a stray husk between his fingers. Moved by a sudden spark, he took up his brush once more. As Ahuang's remnant soul flickered, birds brought dew and shielded the dog with feathers, as if performing a rite of rebirth. In that moment, Ahuang's golden form dissolved into wisps of smoke, blending softly into the morning mist. Such a peaceful, tender farewell, surrounded by the warmth of those feathered companions, seemed... not so bad after all.
From afar, the clamor of a pack of youngsters broke the air. Their white robes were caked with mud and choked with dust. They clutched maps, their faces an unreadable mix of confusion and hope.
Fang was ready with a quip, but then he caught the vacant, shell-shocked stares in their eyes. The ragged youths' faces brightened suddenly, scrambling and tripping over one another, only to tumble into a heap at his feet.
"Master Fang! Uncle Fang! You're Master Fang, aren't you?"
As he recognized their attire, Fang Bai's heart tightened, though he feigned a gruff rebuke. "My dear Senior Brother... has he started recruiting nothing but airheads these days?"
Then the floodgates broke. Those tears... they were unsettling. The orange sky was now bled through by a sun the color of gore.
"Master... our Inkbound Order... it's gone..."
The wind had truly arrived. And it was only going to get colder.