Time flowed like a river, and in the blink of an eye, another year had passed.
The once helpless infant had grown into a small boy of about six or seven.
His thin body had become much taller, though he still looked a bit frail.
Yet the eyes that carried the soul of his past life were brighter and more composed than other children his age, holding a maturity and caution beyond his years.
The villagers still called him “child,” but before her death, Granny Wang had privately given him a name—Luocou.
She said she’d heard the name from a traveling scholar in her youth, and it meant “dew of the morning,” hoping he would be pure and full of vitality like dew.
Luo Ling liked this name very much.
It meant he was no longer just the vague “child,” but now had a true identity of his own.
This past year, Luo Ling had fully integrated into life in the Village of Falling Winds.
He learned to speak the common language of Airea fluently, learned to recognize wild vegetables and fruits in the mountains, learned to use simple tools to help with farm work, and even learned from the village hunters how to set basic traps and use a small bow to hunt little rabbits and birds.
His life was simple and orderly: at dawn, he would help Granny Wang carry water and chop firewood (of course, only as much as suited his age).
During the day, he would either follow the older children into the mountains to gather, or help the adults with small tasks at Field Ridge.
At dusk, he would return home, or play under the moonlight with the village children.
Though life was still poor, and most meals consisted of coarse grains and wild greens, Luo Ling felt a peace and satisfaction he had never known before.
The anxiety and tension that haunted him in his previous life, always driven by the demands of survival, were completely soothed here.
He had almost forgotten that he was a soul from another world, forgotten the tragic past of “Delivery Worker Luo Ling.”
Now, he was simply Luocou of the Village of Falling Winds, Granny Wang’s grandson, a child raised on the shared meals of many families.
That afternoon, Luo Ling walked alone, carrying a small basket, to the edge of the Whispering Forest near the village.
He wanted to gather some Moonlight Grass, a herb the village healer said was good for Granny Wang’s cough.
The Whispering Forest wasn’t considered dangerous.
Adults often entered to chop wood or hunt, and as long as one didn’t venture too deep into the core, they rarely encountered fierce beasts.
Sunlight filtered through the dense leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
The air was thick with the scent of moist earth and fresh greenery, occasionally punctuated by the crisp calls of birds and the gentle rustling of small animals.
Carefully parting the branches blocking his way, Luo Ling searched for traces of Moonlight Grass.
It only grew in shady, damp places, its leaves marked by faint silver patterns—easy to recognize.
“Found it!”
His eyes lit up.
Next to the thick roots of an oak tree, he spotted a small patch of silvery, softly glowing herbs.
He crouched down, pulled out a small trowel, and gently dug up the Moonlight Grass with its roots, placing it into his basket.
Just as he was about to stand and search for more, a faint sound of sobbing came from behind a nearby thicket.
Luo Ling’s heart tightened, his body instantly alert.
Was it a wounded animal?
Or… a lost child?
He held his breath and crept quietly toward the source of the sound.
Parting the dense bushes, the scene before him made him freeze.
Beneath the wide cap of a giant mushroom sat a little girl about his age.
She wore a light blue dress, faded from many washings.
Her golden curls, like threads woven from sunlight, lay messily across her shoulders.
Her small face was exquisitely delicate, her skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Long lashes drooped, damp with tears.
Fat droplets rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the grass below.
In her arms, she cradled a soaked, trembling little rabbit, softly comforting it through her sobs.
“Mn… Xiaobai, don’t be scared… Mama will come find us… mn…”
Luo Ling had never seen this girl in the village.
Children in the Village of Falling Winds mostly had black or brown hair.
This dazzling golden hair was like something from a legend.
And though her clothes were plain, the fabric was clearly much finer than the rough linen worn by village children.
She didn’t look like a child of the Village of Falling Winds.
“You… Who are you?”
Luo Ling hesitated, then spoke.
His voice, tight with nervousness, was a little dry.
The girl startled at the sudden sound, lifting her head sharply.
Her sapphire-blue eyes were filled with terror and wariness.
When she saw that he was just a boy about her own age, her guard eased slightly, but her tears flowed even harder.
“I… I’m Eve…”
She replied softly, her nose stuffy with tears.
“I got separated from Mama… Xiaobai… fell into a water pit…”
She pointed at the rabbit in her arms.
It was indeed drenched and shivering with cold.
Looking at her tear-streaked face, Luo Ling felt all his caution melt away.
He remembered how helpless and afraid he’d felt when he first arrived in this world.
He walked over to Eve, crouched beside her, and looked at the pitiful little rabbit.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I know a way to warm it up.”
Eve gazed at him through her tears.
“Really?”
“Mn.”
Luo Ling nodded and began to act.
He gathered some dry twigs and leaves, then used the fire stone he always carried (a standard for any village child venturing into the forest), and carefully kindled a small fire.
The flames crackled, sending warmth into the air.
Luo Ling took off his patched but clean linen jacket, gently wrapped the soaked rabbit, and placed it near the fire—close enough for warmth, but not to burn.
“Like this, with the clothes and the fire, it’ll warm up soon.”
Luo Ling explained.
Eve watched his practiced movements, then looked at his thin body clad in just an undershirt.
She spoke softly.
“Thank you… Aren’t you cold?”