Night was falling.
The cripple peeked out the door and saw the darkness slowly seeping into the ruins. He quickly shut it.
The market at Dry Sea usually ran for a full day and night, from mid-morning the day before to the same time the next. As such, many merchants stayed overnight.
The dome-shaped houses, built from some unknown material, could hold back the darkness without needing the village's guardians.
The cripple turned back inside, lit a spark to ignite a candle, then asked the butcher:
"How's Sick Boy doing?"
"The Duskhollow has been suppressed for now by the Everchanging Ember. It's quiet... for the time being. But..."
The butcher leaned on his only arm, lifting his head toward the ceiling.
"There's not enough material here. The deaf guy can't patch up the kid's heart. It's got a hole in it now... I don't even know if we'll make it back to the village in time."
---the separator line over-slept today---
That night, Lạc Trần heard two sets of footsteps outside the dome.
One was heavy and deep, sounding less like flesh and more like stone hammering against brick.
The other was high and chilling - bones rattling, clicking like skeletal fingers tapping glass.
He dreamed.
A giant stood in the midst of fertile land. Fragrant grass, azure mountains, clear rivers - birds chirped, monkeys chattered. The world was alive with sound and color.
Then the sky cracked open.
Enormous hands reached down, grabbing people, animals, trees, even the land itself - tossing them into giant mouths lined with jagged golden teeth. Bone-crunching, flesh-squishing, squelching sounds replaced the birdsong. Red replaced green, bone-white replaced floral hues.
Paradise turned to hell in a blink.
The giant stacked mountains into a massive pillar, pushing the sky higher, out of reach from those devouring hands.
But even he failed.
From the sky's gash, armies poured down - soldiers clad in radiant gold armor. Four mighty beasts led the charge.
To the east, the Azure Dragon coiled across hundreds of miles. Lightning burst from its jaws, its tail lashed thunder. Atop its head stood a middle-aged man in jade armor, a golden mask hiding his face, beard brushing his navel. He swung a saber, tearing a wound hundreds of meters wide into the giant.
Blood rained down. Rivers and lakes ran red.
To the west came the White Tiger, claws like hills, fangs as big as houses. On its back sat a warrior in pearl armor, white hair tied in a ponytail, clad in a snowy battle robe. A silver mask obscured their identity. They thrust a spear, piercing the giant's chest - its heart flew out, crashing into the ground and leaving a crater.
To the north, the Black Tortoise loomed in the clouds, its shell sprouting countless immortal peaks. White cranes soared, green oaks stretched skyward, and immortal mist drifted. On the snake's head sat a hulking warrior, muscles rippling. He wielded an eight-faced mace, donned black quartz armor, and wore a crude iron mask. With a roar, he smashed half the giant's head in.
The giant fell.
To the south, the Vermilion Bird spread wings across dozens of miles. On its crown stood a female general in ruby armor, a copper mask over her face, a bow strapped to her back. She raised a hand - the Vermilion Bird opened its beak, releasing heavenly fire. Flames devoured the plains and scorched the rivers dry.
The paradise where the giant once lived became a barren wasteland in an instant.
His sky-pillar collapsed, the mountains scattered, forming a circle that enclosed the desert's heart.
His heart pulsed once - then from its seven massive holes, a thick, ink-like darkness began to ooze, slowly spreading across what had once been fertile ground.
Lạc Trần jolted awake. The image of the Cloudspike Sect elder digging into his chest flashed back - and in that moment, the two hearts, his and the giant's, seemed to merge into one.
---the separator line missed the bus to work---
Morning came.
The butcher told them they had missed their window. The space within Dry Sea had returned to normal - no more convergence of ten thousand paths.
In other words, they had lost their best chance to return.
The cripple explained that, under normal circumstances, it would take three days to get from the market back to the village of Sickos on a cow-foot sedan.
Lạc Trần wanted to apologize.
But he knew the people of the village of Sickos didn't care for polite words - no thanks, no formalities. So he kept quiet, simply etching their kindness deep into his memory.
It seemed the deaf man could sense Lạc Trần's guilt. He cleared his throat and said:
"It's no big deal. Just a few more days on the road. Even if we got back early, it's not like we'd be doing anything. Everyone just sticks to their own thing."
The cripple chimed in:
"Exactly. The village chief said this trip was to broaden the sick kid's horizons. So why rush? A few extra days, a few more villages, let him see the darkness of Dry Sea - still counts as 'broadening,' doesn't it?"
The butcher thumped his chest:
"Long as I'm here, no one's going hungry."
The silent maiden nodded. Her embroidery needle danced behind her, spelling out quickly:
"The deaf and the cripple are right. Hey sick kid, we'll pass through Gemstone River Village this trip - should this old lady find you a young bride?"
An eight-year-old calling herself an "old lady" was eerie, even knowing she was actually the mute seamstress from next door.
Since regaining her youth, Madame Mute's personality had shifted.
The silent maiden embroidered less, was more lively and talkative. Where the old mute would write letters with her own hand, the young maiden used chi to manipulate her needle midair, letting it zip around to speak for her.
Thinking back on her "advertisement," Lạc Trần coughed awkwardly, face a little flushed...
Seeing this, the deaf man half-closed his eyes and painted a warm scene:
"Just imagine. Someday the sick kid gets married, has a bunch of brats. The whole village helps raise them. The boys study with the village chief, the girls learn embroidery with Madame Mu..., cough, with their mom. That twig of a man brews up a jar of scholar's wine, another of maiden's blush. When they grow up, we crack them open and get the whole village drunk. Just like that, decades fly by."
The cripple raised a brow and grinned slyly:
"Don't listen to them. A man's like a wild stallion - barely galloped across the steppe and they're already trying to tie you down? Nonsense. When we're back, follow your big bro here, I'll teach you how to charm the ladies. No chance you'll die single."
"Pointless. What's so great about women? Can't even spar with them. I don't get it."
The butcher muttered and leapt onto the sedan's roof, grabbing his strange bow and quiver.
That afternoon, their cow-foot sedan stopped at a village named Saccharine Soil, tucked within a jug-shaped valley. You had to travel half a mile through a narrow gorge before the stone gate - ten meters tall - came into view.
The village elder of Saccharine Soil was a stooped, snow-haired granny, barely taller than the silent maiden. Seeing travelers at dusk, likely seeking shelter from the dark, the villagers welcomed them warmly.
That day, Lạc Trần learned another unwritten law of Dry Sea: the Guest Law.
If someone arrives by day, they mustn't be turned away. If trust is an issue, they can be asked to seal their cultivation and surrender their weapons.
But guests arriving at night? Absolutely forbidden - no matter how close they are.
The butcher explained: everyone lived in Dry Sea. One day you help someone, the next it could be you needing help.
The silent maiden gifted a pair of goats to Saccharine Soil as thanks for the shelter. The deaf man tried to trade for some metal to patch the hole in Lạc Trần's heart, but unfortunately, the village didn't have any surplus ore.
The butcher gave some chickens and ducks to a few village women and asked them to cook.
Aside from the poultry, the villagers served them a local specialty that night - a white cake. Lạc Trần took a bite; it was firm, a little grainy, slightly sweet, and had a milky flavor. He couldn't place the ingredients.
The cripple explained: it was "earth cake," made from a sweet kind of clay unique to the valley. It's the staple here - and how Saccharine Soil got its name.
That night, the darkness of Dry Sea was held at bay beyond the village gate. The five from the village of Sickos slept soundly until morning.