On the remote southwestern border of the Infinite Huangyue Continent, the vast Qing Mountains stretch out in uninterrupted, rolling lines. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and the darkness deepens. In the villages at the mountain's foot, dim oil lamps are being lit one by one. At the village entrance, a few ancient locust trees sway in the wind, their leaves rustling wildly. Every now and then, a dog's bark echoes far from the village—soon joined by more barks in a fading chorus until, gradually, all falls silent.
Inside one humble house, the flickering light of an oil lamp plays upon the cracked earthen walls. Faint, shifting shadows of a few figures are cast in a lopsided, dancing display.
"Mother, it's decided then—joining the army means at least you won't starve. And if he's lucky and things go well, maybe he'll even make something of himself."
An old man, his face deeply lined from years of hard labor and his back slightly stooped, sits by the doorway leaning against the frame. He holds an old smoking pipe from which hangs a grimy, yellowed tobacco pouch. With each draw—"pah-dah, pah-dah"—the sound rings sharply in the otherwise quiet room.
"But… Old Five is only fourteen," replies an old woman sitting on a rickety, worn-out stool. Clad in tattered clothes, tears stream down the creased lines of her face.
The elder sighs before speaking, "With two years of relentless locust plagues, it isn't just our family—more than half the households in the village are running out of food. Those who can, go work in the city; those able, travel afar; and some join the army. As for Old Three, he injured his leg years ago on the fields, and now he's permanently crippled—he wouldn't be fit for much work out there. They say Old Five's body is as robust as that of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old, and he looks it too. At the very least, by enlisting he'll receive an advance stipend—something to help the family. Later, once he's settled and if he has the will, he can send a bit of money back each month."
After these words, the old man takes another long, thoughtful drag on his pipe. The old woman, head bowed, continues to weep softly.
Outside the door, a solitary figure crouches against the wall, facing the vast distance. He gazes blankly into the dark, studying the distant silhouettes of the endless mountain range while lost in thought. In the quiet both inside and outside, time drifts slowly onward.
After a while, the figure stands up and steps into the house. It's a slim young lad—barely sixteen or seventeen—dressed in an old, rough cloth tunic pocked with holes. His face is plain and dark, unremarkable in every way.
"Father, Mother," he says, "don't worry. Many in the village have already left. The harvest at home is barely enough to keep us fed. Sure, the village chief leads a few to hunt in the mountains now and then, but the deep woods are too dangerous—at best they only sometimes catch a wild chicken or a rabbit, which hardly makes a difference. I, too, want to see the world. Besides, Third Brother and Fourth Sister are here now to take care of you."
In truth, the boy—named Li Yan—was only fourteen. Years spent hunting in the mountains and working the fields spurred him to grow faster, though his poor nutrition left him lean. Once a quiet child who had studied for six or seven years at the village private school under the guidance of the old scholar, his formal education waned after that teacher passed away. Soon, he began to follow the adults on hunting trips along the outskirts of the Qing Mountains. At first, he would sneak along secretly; naturally, he would get scolded by his parents when he returned. But nearly every mountain child grows up amid such reprimands.
As Li Yan matured, he began to join the hunting parties openly. Gradually he learned the habits of wild animals and started to help out during the hunts. Years of sprinting and leaping along mountain brooks had helped him grow taller and stronger. Still, with the locust disasters over the past two years severely cutting the harvest, every meal at home was only barely half-full, and he had grown noticeably thin.
Li Yan's family was one of five siblings. His eldest and second sisters had been married off when he was ten and twelve, respectively, and his fourth sister Li Xiaozhu had also found a husband. However, because the locust plagues had hit hard lately, their in-laws—who were not well off to begin with—couldn't come up with the dowries in time. They promised, though, to gather the required dowries soon, probably within a year or two. Meanwhile, Third Brother Li Wei had injured his ankle while working in the fields years ago; lacking the money for prompt treatment, he was left with a permanent limp.
Inside the room, Li Wei—half-kneeling as he helped their mother—looked at Li Yan with gentle concern and began, "Old Five… Third Brother—"
"Third Brother, you don't need to say anything," Li Yan interjected with a soft smile, "From now on, our family will rely on you. Perhaps one day I'll even become a general or something, and then I'll bring you all to live in comfort."
Li Wei stared at him for a moment, then sighed softly. He glanced over at their mother, who was quietly sobbing with Fourth Sister comforting her, and said reassuringly, "Well, then maybe one day the Li family will indeed be honored by Old Five's success."
Both Li Wei and Li Yan had heard stories from their father and villagers—tales of people who went to the city to sell wild game meat or furs, or to purchase daily necessities—about how their little frontier town lay just a couple of hundred li from the county seat. To the south was the Meng Kingdom, and border skirmishes erupted frequently. In recent years, conscription had become common. In the past, each village had to provide papers proving age, identity, and residence. Now, a simple note from the village chief was enough to join the army. This change had come about because the current emperor ruled with policies of culture and virtue rather than military might. As a result, neighboring countries were always on the verge of conflict, and unrest wasn't limited to one area—several borders often simmered with tension. The central imperial garrison could no longer meet local defense needs alone, so local militias were raised on the spot.
Some villagers were well aware, however, that enlisting carried a high risk of combat. For that reason, many were reluctant to join. Yet, because the imperial orders—advocating civil over military virtues—prevented forced conscription, anyone who now enlisted would receive an advance payment for their family (essentially a "settlement fee"). That incentive spurred a wave of enlistments among poorer households, though well-to-do families rarely sent off their sons.
These details, however, were not matters the village women normally knew about. In a world where men held sway and seldom discussed such things with their wives or mothers-in-law, these issues instead became fodder for gossip at the village square or the fields. In a tiny mountain village of only a dozen or so households, where hardly anyone had ever enlisted, the details of military recruitment were relayed during hard days in the fields or when the young men trailed along on mountain paths.
After a long period of hushed quiet, the old man finally rapped his tobacco pouch a few times on the doorstep and said, "I'm going to see the village chief—now you all, get some rest." Under the gentle glow of the early autumn moon, he slipped away into the night, his figure soon fading into the soft lunar light.
Moonlight streamed in through several wooden window panes—many of which bore holes torn in the paper coating. On the cold, uneven floor, a tattered cotton quilt, patched in several places, covered two figures lying back-to-back. Li Wei and Li Yan rested in silence.
"Old Five, when you're in the military, always keep calm. Endure the hardships; don't try to stand out and attract trouble," Li Wei advised quietly.
"Mm."
After a stretch of silence, Li Wei added, "If—if a battle erupts, and if no one seems to notice, don't charge ahead, but hold back a few steps."
"Mm."
A while later, in the quiet of the night, he murmured, "And don't worry about home. With the enlistment bonus money you'll get, I'll make sure Father and Mother are looked after. With your monthly pay, you should even treat yourself to some meat."
"Mm… Third Brother, you work harder in the fields, too. Our parents are getting old."
"Alright—while I'm here, they won't go hungry."
And so the soft conversation continued intermittently, interwoven with long moments of silence.
Moonlight flowed like gentle water, and the night was cool and serene.
At midnight, there was a quiet creak at the main hall door. The brothers fell silent. Soon, from a small side room, the hushed voices of their parents—almost too faint to hear—could be discerned. Not long afterwards, the soft sound of Fourth Sister's gentle sniffles joined their mother's, revealing that she had stayed by her side.
Still lying with his back turned toward Third Brother, Li Yan fixed his gaze blankly on the wall in the darkness. In the dim light, the wall's cracks seemed to echo familiar voices—memories and moments of the past spreading slowly from his mind into his heart.