The faint glow of dawn still couldn’t dispel the suffocating air of despair over Fallen Leaf Village.
Inside the thatched farmhouse, Anna carefully scraped the last thin layer of wheat porridge from the bottom of the pot with a wooden spoon.
This was the last of their food.
Her movements were slow—not just to avoid wasting even a bit, but also because days of exhaustion and Holy Light depletion had stretched her body like an overdrawn bowstring, leaving her utterly fatigued.
She was about to give this meager portion to the weakest children in the room when a figure blocked the light streaming through the doorway.
Anna looked up warily. When she saw who it was, surprise flashed in her eyes.
It was the young traveler from yesterday—Lin En.
He didn’t say a word.
Silently, he handed over two wild rabbits—already cleaned, with all traces of blood wiped away.
The morning light outlined his calm profile.
His voice was low and clear.
“I’m good at hunting. You’re good at caring for people. Let’s work together. That way, we can save more lives.”
His gaze was direct and sincere.
There was no pity, no condescension—just the stance of an equal, determined to solve a problem.
Anna looked at the two rabbits—enough to keep the village alive for another day—and then at Lin En’s eyes, so clear in the morning light.
Her resolve, held taut for days, nearly broke in that moment.
She sniffed hard, forcing the tears back.
Then she nodded, firmly, and accepted this weighty gift of hope.
“Okay.”
A single syllable.
Yet it marked the beginning of an alliance forged in desperation—a spark falling into ashes long grown cold.
***
In the days that followed, the deathly stillness of Fallen Leaf Village was quietly pierced by a long-lost sense of warmth.
A bonfire was lit at the center of the village—a flame of life that never went out, whether in the morning mist or the cold of night.
Every dawn, as the first pale light struggled through the miasma between the trees, Lin En’s figure would appear on schedule from the depths of the forest.
He’d silently toss a sturdy forest deer or a few fat rabbits onto the open ground.
The heavy thud became the village’s most reassuring signal of the day.
Anna, meanwhile, became the unshakable core around the fire.
With a few women still strong enough to stand, she used frozen red fingers to wash the blood away and carefully divide the meat.
Even the men, dragging sick bodies and wracked by coughs, would force themselves into the nearby woods to gather every scrap of dry wood for the fire.
Each step seemed to drain all their strength—but no one stopped.
Because that flickering flame was their life.
A large pot was set up in the kitchen.
Lin En volunteered to start the fire.
But that first attempt was a bit of a disaster.
He’d dragged enough firewood over, but struggled with the basics—igniting the tinder.
His posture with the firestone was perfect, his strikes firm, sparks flying—but without magic, the delicate fire-tinder just wouldn’t catch.
He frowned slightly, bent down, and awkwardly blew on a wisp of smoke that finally rose.
“Pfft!”
He blew too hard.
Instead of kindling the flame, he sent a puff of black ash flying—straight into his own face.
The stern, composed expression he usually wore was instantly marked with a comical black streak, and the confusion in his eyes made it an even greater contrast to his usual image as a decisive hunter.
Anna, who had been standing by ready to help, was stunned.
Then, something melted in her anxious gaze.
Her lips curled up uncontrollably.
Her shoulders shook.
Finally, she couldn’t hold it in.
She burst out with a clear, irrepressible laugh.
The sound was like a stone thrown into still water—a rare and precious thing in a village shadowed by death.
Lin En froze.
He looked up and saw the pure, untainted joy in Anna’s eyes.
Instinctively, he reached up to wipe his face—only to smear the ash even wider, making him look like a ridiculous little tabby cat.
Anna laughed even harder.
She stepped forward, eyes still sparkling with tears from laughter, and naturally took the firestone from his hand.
“If you blow like that, you’ll just scatter the sparks.”
There was still a hint of laughter in her voice, but it was filled with the certainty born from life’s trials.
She struck the firestone a few times with practiced ease, cupped the tinder with her hands, and gently, rhythmically blew.
Soon, a stable little flame danced cheerfully to life.
At that moment, Lin En was stunned.
His gaze drifted past the newborn flame and locked onto Anna’s profile.
Orange firelight softly lit her slightly gaunt cheeks.
Her eyes shone bright and focused, as if carrying the hope of the entire world.
Soon, the scent of food spread—a miracle of luxury in this forgotten corner.
Chunks of meat simmered in the iron pot, fat sizzling as it cooked, the rich aroma overwhelming the smell of decay and illness, boldly proclaiming the existence of life.
Anna ladled out broth for a little girl with brittle yellow hair, deliberately giving her an extra piece of tender, golden venison.
The girl clutched the cracked wooden bowl, her eyes—made huge by hunger—fixed on the meat as if it were the most precious gem in the world.
She didn’t gobble it down.
Instead, she carefully blew on it, then took a small bite.
In that instant, a pure sense of satisfaction—mingled with meat and warmth—made her close her eyes in comfort and sigh with happiness.
That sigh was more soothing than any words to the numb adults nearby.
A wordless understanding grew between Lin En and Anna.
Anna would glance at the largest iron pot, and Lin En would silently rise to split more firewood and keep the fire strong.
If Lin En’s gaze lingered on a particular pile of game, Anna would know it needed urgent processing and quickly assign help.
It was as if an invisible thread connected their thoughts.
***
When night fell, the bonfire became the only beacon to drive away despair.
Children held warm bowls, sipping hot soup, their faces regaining a bit of healthy color.
Their greasy little mouths sparkled in the firelight.
Adults sat quietly around, no longer in lifeless silence, eyes following the flames, listening to the crackle and pop of burning wood.
It was no longer just noise.
It was the heartbeat of life struggling on.
The most beautiful sound on this land shrouded in death.
Lin En and Anna sat side by side by the fire—a rare moment of rest.
“Light has never abandoned us. Sometimes, the trials are just too heavy.”
Anna hugged her knees, gazing at the flames.
Her voice was soft as she shared stories from her days at the Logtown Church.
Her faith was pure and steadfast—warm as the fire.
“Teacher said the Holy Light exists in all things, and even more so in every kind heart.”
Lin En listened quietly.
Looking into the pure light in Anna’s eyes, he thought of his own world.
A world of information overload and material desires.
There, faith was often tied to gain, and purity became a rare luxury.
People spoke of grand ideals, but their hearts measured tiny profits and losses.
Eyes as pure and devoted as Anna’s—willing to give everything for an elusive faith—seemed to exist only in old heroic tales or faded black-and-white films.
When it was Lin En’s turn, he stared into the flames.
Through the dancing light, he saw a faraway homeland.
His voice held a subtle hint of longing.
“I once visited a city where there was no difference between day and night.”
He began slowly.
Anna inched closer, curiosity in her eyes.
“At night, it was brighter than daytime. People used a type of Magic Crystal to light thousands of eternal lamps. The lights gathered into a river flowing across the ground—a Galactic River.
There were iron steeds called Cars that needed no horses, traveling thousands of miles on black liquid alone.
And towers called Skyscrapers—magic towers that rose to the clouds.
People living on the top floors could open their windows and see the sea of clouds above the sky.”
Anna was captivated.
She had never imagined such sights.
They sounded more fantastical than any myth or legend.
She couldn’t help but ask:
“Was that…a place blessed by the gods?”
Lin En’s eyes darkened briefly, then returned to calm.
“Maybe. There was also a kind of magic called Movies.
They could replay past stories on a huge screen through light and shadow.
People could sit in darkness, watching the joys and sorrows of others, laughing and crying for fates not their own—as if living many different lives at once.”
He spoke with a wry smile.
Scenes of modern civilization so ordinary to him—city nights, cars, skyscrapers, movies—were miracles and magic to people of this world.
Anna was deeply drawn to these stories.
She watched Lin En’s profile, convinced this mysterious traveler came from a faraway and wondrous place.
These half-true, half-fantasy tales painted a world she had never seen.
In these gentle daily moments, Anna noticed a hole in the elbow of Lin En’s coat.
At night, by firelight, she carefully mended it with coarse needle and thread.
And Lin En noticed Anna always gave the biggest and tenderest cuts of meat to others, drinking only broth herself.
He would quietly place a well-roasted piece of meat into her bowl, saying firmly, “You need your strength, too.”
***
Of course, Lin En never forgot his real purpose.
He volunteered to check patients and move the sick, making contact with every infected villager.
Behind his calm exterior, his vast mental power spread like countless invisible probes—scanning and analyzing the black fungal strains within the patients’ bodies, building a clearer energy model in his mind.
He could feel it.
By deciphering these black strains, he was one step closer to the truth behind his mother’s “Wither Fever.”
***
This rare peace was shattered on the afternoon of the fourth day.
“Cough…cough, cough!”
From a dim, crowded sickroom came a harsh, racking cough.
The young man known as Thin Monkey convulsed violently, his face gray.
Under his skin, the deadly black fungal patterns writhed madly, as if about to burst free.
The fragile hope built up in the village was facing its cruelest test.
“Thin Monkey!”
Anna was the first to rush in, Lin En close behind.
She pressed her hand to Thin Monkey’s forehead.
Gentle Holy Light surged forth, but the moment it touched the raging fungal strain, it vanished—like snowflakes on a hot iron.
Thin Monkey’s breathing grew weaker.
In Lin En’s mental senses, his life signs were plunging fast—about to cross the border of death.
The other patients stared in numb fear.
They knew—death had returned.
Anna’s lips were bitten to bleeding.
She looked at the young man’s twisted face, at the despair returning to the villagers’ eyes.
She couldn’t—she absolutely could not let this newly kindled hope die out!
In an instant, all her hesitation and fatigue vanished—replaced by a nearly tragic resolve.
She pressed her trembling hands firmly against Thin Monkey’s chest.
This time, she did not pray or guide.
She poured her spirit and faith as fuel—and ignited them completely!
“Buzz–!”
A burst of Holy Light, far brighter than ever before, exploded forth!
This light was no longer just warmth and sanctity—it carried a burning, destructive force.
Within the radiance, Anna’s body shuddered violently.
A stifled cry escaped her throat.
Her face turned as white as paper.
A streak of red blood trickled from her nose.
Under this power that nearly consumed her, the writhing black fungal marks on Thin Monkey’s body sizzled and faded away.
His convulsions stopped.
His breathing was weak—but miraculously steady.
He had been dragged back from the brink of death.
The room was silent.
Everyone was stunned by the brutal scene.
They looked at Anna—on the verge of collapse.
Their eyes held gratitude, but even more, deep worry.
They knew—the cost of such a miracle was too high.
Two women hurried over to support the swaying Anna.
She forced herself upright, wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve, and turned to Lin En at the door.
She managed a smile—exhausted but relieved.
As if to say: “See, we did it.”
But in Lin En’s eyes, that smile was chilling.
Because only he could see the truth.
In his spiritual senses, at the moment of the Holy Light’s explosion, Anna’s mental world—already cracked and fragile—had been torn wide open at the center by an overwhelming force!
Countless tiny, destructive fractures spread from the breach toward the edge of her mind.
The entire structure was at its final breaking point.
Lin En understood instantly.
The food and rest of these days had only restored her body.
But her spirit, exhausted by constant use of Holy Light, was already deeply overdrawn.
She had been trading her own mind for the villagers’ fleeting lives.
That last act wasn’t healing.
It was drinking poison to quench thirst—a self-sacrificing salvation.
Lin En strode forward, taking Anna from the women and letting her soft, frail body rest against him.
He looked into her eyes—sparkling with renewed hope—and remembered her gentle, steadfast smile by the bonfire.
A feeling cold reason could not explain stirred in him for the first time—a blend of shock, confusion, and…indescribable pain.
He knew.
If he didn’t stop her, this budding hope—and this foolishly kind girl—would soon be reduced to ashes.
He had to intervene.
He had to…save this girl who was saving everyone.
In his own way.