Chapter 11: Arrival at the Misty Village
As Yi and Hongmi approach the footbridge, the sky turns an ominous shade of gray, the clouds swelling with the promise of a storm. The wind picks up, rustling through the fields, making the corn stalks sway more vigorously. Hongmi's demeanor changes; her playful facade fades, replaced by a visible apprehension as she eyes the swaying bridge ahead.
Noticing her hesitation, Yi offers a comforting gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead the way. Just hold on to me,” he says, extending his hand towards her. Hongmi reaches out, her fingers brushing against his. Yi is startled by the texture of her skin; it’s unusually smooth, almost unnaturally so, reminiscent of something he can’t quite place, like a distant memory that he encountered in childhood.
Carefully, they begin to cross the bridge, the wooden planks creaking under their weight. They inch across slowly as the rain pelts them endlessly. The river below rushes with increased vigor, swollen from the gathering storm. Yi feels Hongmi’s grip constrict tightly around his hand, her fear palpable. He steadies his pace, ensuring her safety as they navigate the swaying bridge.
Once across, they are greeted by an unexpected sight. An elderly man stands patiently in the rain under an umbrella, holding a lantern that casts a soft glow in the dimming light. His face is weathered but kind, and he beckons them towards a nearby house.
“Welcome,” the old man greets Yi with a nod, his eyes briefly flickering towards Hongmi before returning to Yi. “I’m Han, caretaker of the guesthouse. You must be from the Daoist Temple. We don’t get many visitors these days.”
Yi nods, his clothes clinging to him from the rain. “Yes, I am. Thank you for your hospitality. We were caught in the weather,” Yi responds with gratitude, but the old man seems oddly indifferent to any mention of Hongmi. She, in turn, appears accustomed to this treatment, yet a hint of resignation lingers in her eyes.
Han leads them inside the guesthouse, a quaint structure that promises warmth and shelter. Inside, the air is filled with the scent of aged wood and faint incense. Han turns to Yi, his demeanor gentle yet firm. “You’ll find dry clothes and a bed in your room. Food is rationed here, but we were expecting you so I can bring you a serving if you perchance have your bowl? You should rest for now; the storm may last through the night.”
Yi produces the bowl from his bag and thanks him, his mind still wrestling with the enigma that is Hongmi. “And tomorrow?” he inquires.
“The bridges may be impassable if the river is thrashing too severely. We'll assess at daybreak. For now, rest and regain your strength,” Han advises, his voice carrying a wisdom born of many years.
The old man's demeanor towards Hongmi remains distant, he does not speak to her and barely ackowledges her. It's a subtlety that doesn't escape Yi's notice. Hongmi seems to accept it without question, still fixating on Yi and smiling softly. Han shows them to separate rooms.
“Thank you, Mr. Han. We appreciate your help,” he says, feeling a responsibility for both their well-beings.
“Of course. The Dao teaches us to aid those on their path. Rest well,” Han replies, before disappearing down the small corridor and out the door.
Yi, drenched and weary, falls onto the modest bed after dropping the baskets and his bag and water vessel to the floor, a welcome comfort despite its sparse make-up of a wooden frame and a thin layer of reeds. The exhaustion from his journey quickly lulls him into a deep sleep, despite his soaked state.
--
He wakes to the chill of the room, shivering in the dim candlelight. Noticing he's now dressed in a dry robe, albeit with sleeves slightly short, his gaze shifts to the window, where his own clothes are balanced on the window sill and his blanket draped over his walking stick in an attempt to dry them, a tattered paper sheet partially covering the opening. Outside, the storm's fury has softened to a steady rain.
He also notices on a small stool his bowl, covered with a small porcelain lid with a crack. Hunger immediately churns within him, and he is curious as to what Han could have left him while he slept.
Suddenly, Yi's attention is abruptly drawn to floor, where he spots Hongmi. She is huddled in a compact ball, her body folding in on itself. Her face, in contrast to her tightly curled posture, is serene and peaceful. The soft candlelight gently illuminates her features, highlighting her smooth face. Her long hair flows around her, a stark contrast against the wooden floor. Her feet are tucked within the folds of her dress, and her arms are wrapped as closely as she can around her knees that are drawn up nearly to her chin.
Her clothes, slightly damp and clinging to her frame, outline her slender body, drawn tightly into a self-embrace as if seeking warmth or comfort in her own hold. The golden rings catch the flickering light as she breathes deeply. The journal lies nearby, its pages open as if she had been reading it before succumbing to sleep. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, indicating a deep slumber, undisturbed by the room's chill or the floor's hardness.
Confusion, concern, and a touch of embarrassment wash over him. Moving cautiously, Yi steps over her and quietly tests the driness of his blanket, then retrieves it. Returning to her side, he takes a moment to observe her more closely. Her peaceful demeanor in sleep contrasts sharply with the rigidity of her body. He contemplates how she could be comfortable. Gently, Yi covers her with the blanket.
As he stands, he now grapples with the complication of her presence in his room. In a state of quiet contemplation, he decides to check on his possessions first. He approaches his bag which sits in a heap next to the stool, carefully inspecting its contents. Relief washes over him as he realizes that everything is intact; nothing is missing. Even the remaining zongzi, which he assumed she may have taken if she were hungry, remain wrapped. The only item Hongmi had taken was the journal, which now lies beside her on the floor. With a gentle hand, Yi retrieves the journal, taking a moment to glance at the pages she had been reading (the pages about dangerous animals you may encounter) before placing it back securely in his bag. He hopes the stories are not giving her bad dreams.
His attention shifts to the baskets, stacked in the far corner. Moving towards them, he inspects each one carefully. Despite the rain, they seem unharmed, the craftsmanship holding up against the elements. Yi silently appreciates the skill that went into making them.
Returning to the bed, Yi decides to inspect the meal out for him. The aroma of ginger fills the room, a comforting scent that momentarily eases the tension within him. He uncovers the dish to find it contains soup noodles, topped with a perfectly fried egg and sautéed wild vegetables with finely sliced ginger. The rice noodles are delicate and have been freshly made.
The care evident in the meal's preparation brings warmth to his heart and reminds him of home and the Temple simultaneously. Yi allows himself a moment to savor the still warm meal, the tender noodles and the blend of vegetables provide a much-needed nourishment, and the egg adding a richness of energy. Eggs were probably not easy to come by in a fishing village, and he savored the thoughful gesture.
With his immediate concerns addressed, Yi finally feels a sense of closure for the night. He looks over at Hongmi once more, now covered but still hundled under the blanket. A myriad of thoughts and questions about her still linger in his mind, but he acknowledges that they are for the morning to unravel. Before returning to the bed, he removes two of the zongzi from his bag and places them next to his empty bowl on the stool.
Yi settles down once again, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the day’s events, the mysterious girl sleeping on his floor, and the journey that still lies ahead. Despite the warmth from the meal and the comfort of the dry robe, sleep comes slowly, his mind restless with the uncertainty and intrigue. The night passes with the soft sound of rain outside, a soothing backdrop to Yi’s tumultuous thoughts.
Noticing her hesitation, Yi offers a comforting gesture. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead the way. Just hold on to me,” he says, extending his hand towards her. Hongmi reaches out, her fingers brushing against his. Yi is startled by the texture of her skin; it’s unusually smooth, almost unnaturally so, reminiscent of something he can’t quite place, like a distant memory that he encountered in childhood.
Carefully, they begin to cross the bridge, the wooden planks creaking under their weight. They inch across slowly as the rain pelts them endlessly. The river below rushes with increased vigor, swollen from the gathering storm. Yi feels Hongmi’s grip constrict tightly around his hand, her fear palpable. He steadies his pace, ensuring her safety as they navigate the swaying bridge.
Once across, they are greeted by an unexpected sight. An elderly man stands patiently in the rain under an umbrella, holding a lantern that casts a soft glow in the dimming light. His face is weathered but kind, and he beckons them towards a nearby house.
“Welcome,” the old man greets Yi with a nod, his eyes briefly flickering towards Hongmi before returning to Yi. “I’m Han, caretaker of the guesthouse. You must be from the Daoist Temple. We don’t get many visitors these days.”
Yi nods, his clothes clinging to him from the rain. “Yes, I am. Thank you for your hospitality. We were caught in the weather,” Yi responds with gratitude, but the old man seems oddly indifferent to any mention of Hongmi. She, in turn, appears accustomed to this treatment, yet a hint of resignation lingers in her eyes.
Han leads them inside the guesthouse, a quaint structure that promises warmth and shelter. Inside, the air is filled with the scent of aged wood and faint incense. Han turns to Yi, his demeanor gentle yet firm. “You’ll find dry clothes and a bed in your room. Food is rationed here, but we were expecting you so I can bring you a serving if you perchance have your bowl? You should rest for now; the storm may last through the night.”
Yi produces the bowl from his bag and thanks him, his mind still wrestling with the enigma that is Hongmi. “And tomorrow?” he inquires.
“The bridges may be impassable if the river is thrashing too severely. We'll assess at daybreak. For now, rest and regain your strength,” Han advises, his voice carrying a wisdom born of many years.
The old man's demeanor towards Hongmi remains distant, he does not speak to her and barely ackowledges her. It's a subtlety that doesn't escape Yi's notice. Hongmi seems to accept it without question, still fixating on Yi and smiling softly. Han shows them to separate rooms.
“Thank you, Mr. Han. We appreciate your help,” he says, feeling a responsibility for both their well-beings.
“Of course. The Dao teaches us to aid those on their path. Rest well,” Han replies, before disappearing down the small corridor and out the door.
Yi, drenched and weary, falls onto the modest bed after dropping the baskets and his bag and water vessel to the floor, a welcome comfort despite its sparse make-up of a wooden frame and a thin layer of reeds. The exhaustion from his journey quickly lulls him into a deep sleep, despite his soaked state.
--
He wakes to the chill of the room, shivering in the dim candlelight. Noticing he's now dressed in a dry robe, albeit with sleeves slightly short, his gaze shifts to the window, where his own clothes are balanced on the window sill and his blanket draped over his walking stick in an attempt to dry them, a tattered paper sheet partially covering the opening. Outside, the storm's fury has softened to a steady rain.
He also notices on a small stool his bowl, covered with a small porcelain lid with a crack. Hunger immediately churns within him, and he is curious as to what Han could have left him while he slept.
Suddenly, Yi's attention is abruptly drawn to floor, where he spots Hongmi. She is huddled in a compact ball, her body folding in on itself. Her face, in contrast to her tightly curled posture, is serene and peaceful. The soft candlelight gently illuminates her features, highlighting her smooth face. Her long hair flows around her, a stark contrast against the wooden floor. Her feet are tucked within the folds of her dress, and her arms are wrapped as closely as she can around her knees that are drawn up nearly to her chin.
Her clothes, slightly damp and clinging to her frame, outline her slender body, drawn tightly into a self-embrace as if seeking warmth or comfort in her own hold. The golden rings catch the flickering light as she breathes deeply. The journal lies nearby, its pages open as if she had been reading it before succumbing to sleep. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, indicating a deep slumber, undisturbed by the room's chill or the floor's hardness.
Confusion, concern, and a touch of embarrassment wash over him. Moving cautiously, Yi steps over her and quietly tests the driness of his blanket, then retrieves it. Returning to her side, he takes a moment to observe her more closely. Her peaceful demeanor in sleep contrasts sharply with the rigidity of her body. He contemplates how she could be comfortable. Gently, Yi covers her with the blanket.
As he stands, he now grapples with the complication of her presence in his room. In a state of quiet contemplation, he decides to check on his possessions first. He approaches his bag which sits in a heap next to the stool, carefully inspecting its contents. Relief washes over him as he realizes that everything is intact; nothing is missing. Even the remaining zongzi, which he assumed she may have taken if she were hungry, remain wrapped. The only item Hongmi had taken was the journal, which now lies beside her on the floor. With a gentle hand, Yi retrieves the journal, taking a moment to glance at the pages she had been reading (the pages about dangerous animals you may encounter) before placing it back securely in his bag. He hopes the stories are not giving her bad dreams.
His attention shifts to the baskets, stacked in the far corner. Moving towards them, he inspects each one carefully. Despite the rain, they seem unharmed, the craftsmanship holding up against the elements. Yi silently appreciates the skill that went into making them.
Returning to the bed, Yi decides to inspect the meal out for him. The aroma of ginger fills the room, a comforting scent that momentarily eases the tension within him. He uncovers the dish to find it contains soup noodles, topped with a perfectly fried egg and sautéed wild vegetables with finely sliced ginger. The rice noodles are delicate and have been freshly made.
The care evident in the meal's preparation brings warmth to his heart and reminds him of home and the Temple simultaneously. Yi allows himself a moment to savor the still warm meal, the tender noodles and the blend of vegetables provide a much-needed nourishment, and the egg adding a richness of energy. Eggs were probably not easy to come by in a fishing village, and he savored the thoughful gesture.
With his immediate concerns addressed, Yi finally feels a sense of closure for the night. He looks over at Hongmi once more, now covered but still hundled under the blanket. A myriad of thoughts and questions about her still linger in his mind, but he acknowledges that they are for the morning to unravel. Before returning to the bed, he removes two of the zongzi from his bag and places them next to his empty bowl on the stool.
Yi settles down once again, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the day’s events, the mysterious girl sleeping on his floor, and the journey that still lies ahead. Despite the warmth from the meal and the comfort of the dry robe, sleep comes slowly, his mind restless with the uncertainty and intrigue. The night passes with the soft sound of rain outside, a soothing backdrop to Yi’s tumultuous thoughts.
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