On that day, the sun sank below the horizon and never rose again...
In the eternal night, heaven and earth were pitch-black, like an unfathomable abyss waiting to swallow everything whole. Daylight had long since faded into the past, reduced to myth.
Across the vast frozen earth, bitter winds howled, driving a torrential blizzard that left snow drifts half the height of a man. Twin Trees Village lay half-submerged beneath the white expanse.
Home to only forty or fifty households, it was a village forgotten by time. The clusters of houses were nothing more than faint, shadowy silhouettes in the darkness. In the wailing gale, several roofs rattled and shook, as if on the verge of being ripped away.
Weak and frail, Qin Ming was jolted awake by hunger. His stomach growled incessantly. In this freezing night, the thought of any food made him swallow hard. He did not dare dream of steaming meats or fresh, succulent fruit—even the thought of a cold, stale steamed bun brought a rush of sweetness to his mouth, making his saliva flow.
With the freezing chill outside and in, the oppressive darkness felt suffocating. Qin Ming wrapped his tattered quilt tightly around himself. The warmth of the heated brick bed did little against the bitter cold outdoors; drawing air into his lungs felt like inhaling crushed ice, pricking with a sharp sting.
He forced himself to stop thinking of food, lest bitter acid surge up from his stomach to his tongue. Calming his thoughts, he suddenly realized his head felt clear. The heavy grogginess that had dogged him for days was gone. Was his strange affliction finally abating?
Though cold and starving, the first sign of recovery after such a long illness brought a spark of light back to his eyes. He waited for the arrival of the shallow night.
As time slipped by, the wind died down, and the swirling, goose-feather blizzard dwindled to scattered flakes.
Footsteps stirred in the neighboring yard, followed by the voices of a young married couple, Lu Ze and Liang Wanqing.
"Where are you going? Are you taking food to Qin Ming again?" Liang Wanqing's voice rose with growing agitation.
"He's just endured a terrible illness, he's only sixteen or seventeen, and he lives all alone," Lu Ze said quietly. "It's pitiful."
"Don't you realize we barely have enough to eat ourselves? If this goes on, our two children are going to starve!" Liang Wanqing protested, her emotions running high.
"The blizzard has stopped. We'll find a way," Lu Ze replied, looking out into the pitch-black world.
...
Listening to their argument, Qin Ming felt a deep twinge of guilt. He did not want to take any more of Lu Ze's charity. Times were hard, and no household had it easy.
He pushed himself up from the brick bed. Even after slipping into his padded cotton jacket, the cold seeped in, so he pulled an old beast-pelt coat from the chest and wrapped it tightly around himself. He paced around the pitch-black room, rubbing his hands together to stave off the chill.
After a month of severe illness, his tall, slender frame had grown lean. The shoulder-length black hair had lost some of its luster, and his handsome face looked slightly pale. Yet his clear eyes shone brightly, full of spirit. Despite his lingering sickly air, there was an unmistakable resolve about him.
A month ago, he had barely managed to escape from the mountains. Back then, his hands and feet had begun turning black, and he had been bedridden ever since. As for the companions who went with him, they had all died on the very day they returned.
Afflicted by that strange sickness, most people had assumed he would never survive. Yet he had endured until now, and his condition was clearly turning for the better. Even so, the thought of the unknown dangers lurking in those mountains still left lingering dread in his heart.
Outside, the darkness began to shift, like a drop of ink dispersing into a small bowl of clear water. The shallow night had arrived—the equivalent of daytime in this era. Even so, it was only marginally better than the deep night. The world remained wrapped in darkness, and anything in the distance was impossible to make out.
The courtyard gate creaked open. Lu Ze had arrived, his robust, sturdy frame working an iron shovel to toss the drifts aside and quickly clear a path to the front door.
Qin Ming pushed open the snow-choked door. "Brother Lu."
Lu Ze carried a glowing cloth pouch over to a stone basin sitting in the snow. He tipped it, and a pile of radiant red stones clattered into the basin with crisp clinks, their light piercing the darkness.
These were sunstones. Their very name carried the yearning and hopes of people living in this era. Their glow now illuminated the yard.
Lu Ze looked at him in surprise. "Xiao Qin, you look far more spirited today."
Qin Ming invited him inside and told him the truth: his mind was no longer clouded, and he was likely about to make a full recovery.
Lu Ze remarked on how tough Qin Ming was, noting that surviving a strange mountain illness was no small feat. He poured the remaining glowing stones from the pouch into a copper basin in the room, filling the space with warm light.
Sunstones were harvested from the Fire Spring. Though veiled in misty, blazing light, their warmth was far lower than human body temperature. After several hours, they would go out on their own and would need to be returned to the Fire Spring to be recharged.
"Here!" Lu Ze handed over a food basket.
Having been sick for a whole month, Qin Ming had exhausted his own provisions days ago and had survived entirely on Lu Ze's aid. Having just overheard the couple's quarrel and knowing their situation was strained, he felt even more remorseful.
"Eat it while it's hot," Lu Ze urged. He was an honest, upright man who never forgot a kindness. Once, when he had gotten lost in the pitch-black woods, it was Qin Ming who called his name over and over, guiding him back.
Looking at the steaming dark-flour buns, Qin Ming could not stop his mouth from watering.
"Why are you just standing there? You haven't fully recovered yet, and you won't get better on an empty stomach. Since when are you so formal with me?" Lu Ze thrust the food basket directly into his hands.
"Brother Lu!" In the end, Qin Ming cast hesitation aside. He tore off a piece of the bun. The texture was coarse, but as he wolfed it down, it tasted exquisitely sweet.
"Call for me if you need anything," Lu Ze said, turning to leave.
With his hunger kept at bay, Qin Ming felt his energy surging. The lingering aches and discomforts in his body were receding, convincing him that his stubborn affliction was truly breaking.
He wanted to step outside for some fresh air and stretch his legs. Pushing open the courtyard gate, he walked out into the street. The air was bitingly cold, and every breath puffed out as thick white mist.
In the shallow night—this era's daytime—the crimson haze of sunstones radiated from every home, casting a soft, dim glow over the street.
"Qin Ming, you're back on your feet?" someone called out upon seeing him.
"Xiao Qin, let me have a look at you." Granny Zhou from North Street took his hand, looking him over from head to toe. She noticed his complexion looked much better than the last time she had seen him.
Qin Ming greeted them with a smile, assuring them that he was indeed nearly recovered.
The few people gathered at the intersection wore looks of disbelief. To recover after being struck by the strange illness was unheard of.
"Xiao Qin, even if you're getting better, don't rush outside. It's dangerous out there right now," Granny Zhou warned, glancing beyond the village toward the ink-black world.
The other neighbors wore troubled frowns. Times were grim, and the food shortage had become dire. If things went on like this, people would starve to death.
Qin Ming noticed that Granny Zhou, normally so warm and kindly, was pale and gaunt, her frail body looking as though a gust of wind might blow her over.
Once the others had dispersed, Granny Zhou carefully took a few pieces of dried sweet potato from her pocket and pressed them into Qin Ming's hand.
Qin Ming hastily pushed them back. The elderly woman was already advanced in years and clearly bearing the strain of hunger; how could he take the meager rations she needed to survive?
Each household had shoveled the road outside their gates, though not thoroughly. Patches of snow remained, crunching beneath his feet. Qin Ming exhaled plumes of white breath as he walked forward.
Near the edge of the village, he came to a stop.
Before a large courtyard lay a small threshing ground. A black mountain goat, standing nearly as high as an adult's shoulder, was harnessed to a stone mill, grinding mutated wheat that resembled grains of silver.
Not everyone was short on food; this household at the edge of the village was clearly doing well.
Qin Ming stared at the black goat, his eyes gleaming. With basic sustenance a struggle, he had not tasted meat in a long time, and the craving was intense.
The goat was massive with thick horns, cutting a somewhat ferocious figure. Feeling Qin Ming's gaze, it seemed startled, and its perked-up tail drooped at once.
"Xiao Qin, you've recovered? A narrow escape from death promises blessings later in life." A burly, thickset middle-aged man with a heavy beard stood at the gate of the yard. Assuming Qin Ming was looking at the mutated grain—silver wheat—beneath the millstone, he added, "There are too many mouths to feed in my house, and we burn through food too quickly. This is our last bag of grain."
"Uncle Yang, you're capable. Managing to take good care of such a large family in times like these is no small feat," Qin Ming said with a smile. Of course, he did not believe that only a single bag remained.
After greeting Yang Yongqing, he continued on until he reached the edge of the village.
The Fire Spring lay just ahead, casting a bright illumination over the surrounding area.
It was enclosed by stacked stones, forming a pool roughly sixteen feet across. The low stone parapet was only knee-high, and within it burned a sea of fiery red light.
In this season of heavy blizzards, although the Fire Spring had nearly run dry and no longer bubbled up, light and flames still swirled within it.
Growing out of the pool were two trees, the origin of Twin Trees Village's name. One bore jet-black leaves, while the other bore snow-white leaves, neither withering in the dead of winter.