Chen kangle stirred the pot slowly, the thin broth bubbling quietly as the scent of wild mushroom and green vegies filled the air. The open kitchen at the side of their small shack was a little more than a counter of stone and salvaged wood, but it served its purpose. The skies above had long turned dusky, casting the clearing in soft violet shadows, the first stars blinking through the thinning light.
Behind her, she could feel Shen Moxuan's gaze. Every few moments, she glanced over her shoulder—only to find him in the same spot, leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes following her movement.
"You know," he finally said, voice low and almost amused, "you don't have to keep looking back. I'm not going anywhere."
Chen Kangle exhaled through her nose, calming her nerves. "Then stop staring."
He smirked, but said nothing.
They ate outside, seated on uneven stools. The meal was simple—just some wild greens, mushrooms, and dry root vegetables cooked down into something barely passable but it was warm, and filling. Chen Kangle learned the recipe from Duan Yanyan's memory, and because it was Duan Yu's favorite, Chen Kangle decided to learn it. The forest beyond whispered with the occasional breeze, the fire crackled at their feet, and the silence between them wasn't entirely uncomfortable.
"This is good," Shen Moxuan said, holding his bowl in both hands.
"I'm surprised you know what good food tastes like," she replied.
He grinned. "I didn't say it was amazing. Just... better than I expected."
Chen Kangle rolled her eyes. "Finish it or I'll take it back."
There was silence all around us, like even space itself was holding its breath, unwilling to break the stillness
Shen Moxuan glanced at her, then asked, "By the way... what's your name?"
She looked up. The firelight flickered in her eyes, casting a brief shadow across her face.
For a second, the question hung in the air. A simple question—but not a simple answer.
"…Duan Yanyan," she said finally. Her voice was quiet but steady. "That's what people here call me." She looked down at her hands, fingers tightening slightly around the rim of her bowl.
Since it's true that they call me Duan Yanyan here... I wasn't lying. I never said it was my name. Just what they call me.
It was a small distinction. But one that helped her breathe.
Shen Moxuan repeated it under his breath, as though committing it to memory. "Duan Yanyan…"
He took another bite from his bowl, then said nothing at all.
Their quiet exchange carried a kind of ease neither of them acknowledged aloud. And maybe that was why—when the bowls were scraped clean and the fire reduced to glowing embers, she felt the need to break it.
She stood, dusted her hands on her pants, and pointed toward the path. "Now that you've eaten, you can leave now."
He blinked. "What, no bedtime story? No blanket?"
"No. Out."
Shen Moxuan gave a long, exaggerated sigh and rose slowly to his feet. "Harsh."
She stopped bothering about him and grab the bowl in his hands so she can clean the dirty dishes.
...
Morning crept in with dew clinging to the grass and mist curling low along the forest floor. A soft knock pulled Chen Kangle from her half-sleep state. She opened the door to find Uncle Ma standing there, wrapped in his worn cloak, his straw hat tucked under one arm.
"Morning, Xiaoyan," he said, his breath fogging in the chill. "I'm heading to the hills to check the traps. Some of the beasts have been restless lately so I figured it's better to go in together and you can pick herbs."
She hesitated. Then nodded. "Give me a moment."
She went inside and picked her straw hat along with her basket before heading out.
"Let's go, Uncle Ma."
They left together not long after, following the narrow path that they've become accustomed to tread.
The sun began to filter through the canopy, golden and pale, as they picked through the undergrowth, searching for flame-root and soft mosses.
Along the way, while Uncle Ma check the beast traps, Chen Kangle also surveyed their surrounding for herbs. It was a calm morning—birds chirped lazily overhead, and for a while, it felt the rumors about beast going wild here recently seems just that—rumors.
But peace, as always, was fragile.
They saw a smoke.
And based on the direction it came from, it was from their village.
They look at each other and immediately stopped what they were doing a second ago and rushed to return to the village.
They ran in haste, herbs forgotten, their arms brushing branches aside as they raced back down the trail.
Chen Kangle couldn't help but worry. She feels uneasy about this sudden fire.
She ran as fast as she could, silently praying that nothing would happen to her brother.
At her distance, she could already see the fire stretching high into the sky, its flames licking the air like furious tongues. Smoke billowed upward in thick, choking waves, turning the once-clear sky into a swirling canvas of gray and red. The air shimmered with heat, and the space ahead looked distorted—warped by flames.
The moment they reached the village edge, Chen Kangle froze.
Burnt air. Burning houses.
Then came the distant sounds of shouting, hurried footsteps, the frantic ringing of the village bell.
A tremor of dread passed through her.
She scanned the chaos, eyes darting between the collapsing rooftops and villagers stumbling through smoke with buckets of water, their faces blackened with soot and fear. Cries overlapping—someone calling for help, another calling for a missing child. Panic starts to take shape in her, pressing down on her chest like an invisible weight.
Where is he? Her breath caught.
She pushed forward, weaving through the disarray, ignoring the heat searing her skin and the sting of ash in her eyes. Her feet splashed through puddles left by scattered water buckets, slipping once, but she caught herself, her heart pounding harder.
She rounded a corner near the school grounds—what was once the school grounds—and her blood ran cold.
"Xiaoyu!" she called, but her voice was swallowed by the roar of flames and the screams of the villagers.
Chen Kangle's legs moved before her thoughts could catch up.
She pushed past people, stumbling towards the school, heart slamming in her chest.
"Where is he—where's Xiaoyu?!" she called to no one, to everyone.
Someone grabbed her arm. "It's too dangerous! The building's already—"
She shook them off.
The roof had already collapsed on one side. Fire burst through broken windows, casting the inside in flickering, demonic light. The air was hot, thick with smoke and the stench of burning wood and scorched earth.
"Xiaoyu!" she cried out, her voice splintering—half scream, half sob.
She screamed his name. But no one answered. Her heart ached like a knife was twisted inside.
Chen Kangle didn't know when, but tears were falling incessantly, clouding her vision.
She tried to run in, but strong arms caught her mid-step, locking around her shoulders and dragging her back.
"No—let me go! I have to—"She struggled, kicking and twisting, but the grip didn't loosen.
"Yanyan!"
A low, steady voice cut through the chaos, anchoring her."Yanyan, look at me."
Shen Moxuan had appeared like a shadow through the smoke, his arms firm around her as she fought him. He kept whispering her name, again and again—quiet and unshaken, like he was trying to pull her back from drowning.
"The fire's too strong. You can't go in," he said, not harshly, but a truth she didn't want to hear.
Tears blurred her vision as she beat a fist weakly against his chest. "He's in there... Xiaoyu's in there... I have to—he's all I have..." she sobbed hard and choked on the weight of her words, her knees threatening to give in beneath her.
He didn't flinch under her grief, he didn't loosen his grip.
"Yanyan," he said softly, brushing soot-streaked hair away from her face. "Listen to me."
She shook her head, barely hearing him.
"Duan Yu might have gotten out," he continued, his voice low but firm. "The fire started at the school, but that doesn't mean he's still in there. He could've evacuated with the others."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and trembling with desperate hope.
"You don't know that," she whispered.
"No," he admitted. "But we can find someone who does. Someone who saw what happened—who was there when it started."
Her breath hitched. Grief and hope clashed violently in her chest at the possibility.
"Come on," he said, gently guiding her back from the smoke and flame. "We'll ask around. Someone must've seen him."
And though her legs felt heavy, like they were made of stone, she let him lead her clinging to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Xiaoyu had made it out in time.