The small courtyard remained intact.
A thin layer of ash lay evenly across the stone, undisturbed beneath the open sky. The morning air pressed low over the space, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke drifting in from beyond the walls.
Inside the adjoining room, Old Hao lay on the narrow bed.
A crack ran along the ceiling beam above him, the wood split cleanly along its grain. His eyes remained fixed on the same point without blinking, and his breathing stayed shallow and slow, barely lifting the cloth spread across his chest.
Time passed without anything changing.
After a while, his eyes shifted.
***
"Father."
She stood just inside the doorway, one shoulder half-hidden by the frame. Her hair had been tied loosely, with strands slipping free near her temples, and her sleeves hung past her wrists, bunching slightly when she moved.
"Look," she said, taking a small step forward.
She raised her hands and held out a ribbon, pulling it straight between her fingers so he could see it clearly.
"Is this one pretty?"
She did not wait for his reply.
"I'll wear it tomorrow," she said, already turning away as she spoke.
The room carried the faint smell of rice and woodsmoke.
Another day came.
The road between villages stretched long and pale beneath the sun, dust warm beneath their feet. She walked beside him, close enough that their sleeves brushed as she nudged small stones out of her path with the tips of her shoes.
"They're really distant relatives?" she asked, glancing up at him.
"Yes," he said. "Very distant."
She slowed slightly, her brow tightening. "Then why are we visiting them?"
He kept his eyes on the road ahead as he answered. "You will understand when we reach there."
She nodded once and did not ask anything else, her steps growing quieter as she walked.
The sound of hooves rose behind them.
Laughter followed, loud and careless, and the distance closed quickly as dark-robed figures came into view. Heavy boots struck the ground as they dismounted, their movements abrupt and unhurried.
A hand closed around her wrist.
"Father?" she called, her voice sharp with surprise as she turned toward him.
Old Hao stepped forward.
The first blow struck before he reached her, knocking him off balance, and the second drove the breath from his chest as he hit the ground hard. Weight pressed down on him, holding him in place as he struggled to rise, his arms shaking beneath him while his body refused to respond.
"Old man, we are from Black Furnace Sect, consider it your fortune that your daughter will get to serve our Sect Master, hahhahaha!"
"Father?" "Leave me, ahh!Father!"
Her voice pulled away, growing thinner as boots moved across the road.
When he finally managed to turn onto his side, the road lay empty.
***
Old Hao sat up on the bed.
The movement was slow, his joints stiff as they straightened, and he remained seated for a moment before steadying himself. He did not look around the room, letting his gaze drop instead to the floor near his feet.
Voices filled the space, overlapping and familiar.
***
"Old Hao."
"I heard your daughter is getting married."
"That's good. A girl needs a household."
He nodded as each voice spoke, answering when addressed and lowering his head again when they moved on.
Silver was pressed into his hands, the weight of it warm against his palms.
"Take it. Your daughter grew up under this roof. To us, she is no different from family. You will need it."
His fingers closed around the coins, tightening slowly until the edges pressed into his palms. The trembling in his hands did not stop, but his grip held, and his shoulders lifted a fraction as he drew a breath that went deeper than the last.
He remained seated, the silver resting against his legs, his head bowed and unmoving for a long while. When he finally shifted, it was to gather the coins together with care, wrapping them in cloth and tying the knot twice before pressing the bundle against his chest.
Stone lay beneath his knees.
Men stood above him.
Their robes were dark and stiff with use, their boots planted carelessly on the stone. None of them asked who he was.
One of them glanced down at the bundle in his hands and laughed.
"Old man," he said, nudging it lightly with the toe of his boot, "do you think this buys back what was taken by us?"
Old Hao lifted his head. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. He swallowed, then raised the bundle with both hands, holding it steady despite the shaking in his arms.
Another voice answered before he could speak.
"What do you have," it said, "that makes her worth returning?"
The bundle was struck from his hands.
He reached for it without thinking and was kicked aside before his fingers could close around the cloth. Pain spread through his ribs as he hit the ground, his breath tearing out of him as stone pressed cold against his cheek.
Laughter passed over him.
Someone stepped near enough that he could see the edge of a boot beside his face.
"Go home," the voice said. "If you had something worth trading, you wouldn't be here begging."
No one waited for him to rise.
The room was quiet when the memory shifted again.
Old Hao sat at the table, his back straight, his hands resting flat against the wood. The paper before him was clean. The ink had already been ground. The brush lay where he could reach it.
He picked it up and held it for a moment, his fingers tightening and loosening around the handle before he dipped it into the ink.
The first line was written carefully.
"The Chen family has discovered a Spirit Stone mine near Qingshi."
He paused, lifting the brush and setting it down again before continuing.
"I know the exact location."
The brush hovered above the paper at the next line. His grip tightened, his knuckles whitening as he pressed the tip down.
"I ask only one thing."
The final line took longer. His hand slowed, the strokes growing heavier as he finished it.
"Return my daughter to me."
When he was done, he set the brush down and stepped back from the table.
***
Old Hao pushed himself upright.
The motion was slow. His hands pressed against the edge of the bed until his arms steadied enough to bear his weight. When he stood, he remained still for a moment, his breathing shallow, his gaze lowered toward the floor.
He turned toward the wooden trunk set against the wall.
Its lid creaked softly as he opened it. Inside lay folded cloth, old garments, and beneath them, a long scarf. He lifted it out with both hands. The fabric had faded with time, its edges worn thin from repeated use.
He held it for a while, then folded it lengthwise and draped it over his arm.
***
"Where is the mine?" the man asked.
His voice carried easily, sharp with interest. He did not wait for an answer before stepping closer. "Take me there."
Old Hao turned and led him through the hills without speaking.
They walked until the trees thinned and stone broke through the earth. When the vein came into view, pale and unmistakable against the rock, the man stopped.
His eyes widened.
He stepped forward, running his hand along the exposed stone, laughing under his breath as his fingers traced its edge. The sound grew louder, unrestrained, echoing against the rock face.
Old Hao stood behind him.
"My daughter," he said. "She will be returned, right?"
The man laughed again, not turning around. "Once everything is settled," he said. "Of course."
***
Old Hao climbed onto the stone stool beneath the ceiling beam.
The scarf was looped once, then twice, his fingers working carefully despite the tremor in them. He tested the knot with a slow pull, watching how the fabric tightened against the wood.
The beam held.
***
A youth stood before him, his robe marked with the Black Furnace Sect's insignia. His expression was bored, his eyes drifting around the room.
"Old man," he said, tossing a bundle at Old Hao's feet, "plant these flags around the Chen family manor."
He adjusted his sleeve and continued without looking up. "After that, we'll return your daughter."
The youth turned and left, already speaking to someone outside.
***
The scarf was secured.
Old Hao remained standing on the stone, his hands resting at his sides. A single tear slipped free and traced a line down his cheek, dropping soundlessly onto the floor below.
Behind him, a small body lay on the bed.
The girl's frame had shriveled until the clothes hung loosely over her. Her hair had lost its shine. One hand rested against her chest, fingers curled around a ribbon, its color still faintly visible despite the dim light.
Old Hao did not turn around.
The stone beneath his feet shifted.
It tipped.
The sound of it scraping and falling echoed through the hut, loud and sudden in the silence.