The morning sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell, seeping in through the gaps in the thatched hut.
Nanxi opened his eyes, staring at the few blackened thatch stems above his head for a while before slowly sitting up.
His left leg still hurt, and it didn’t feel any better than yesterday.
It had already been two days since Nanxi killed those few people.
The villagers who noticed something amiss came looking for trouble the next day, but Nanxi killed the leader as a warning to the others.
As for why he didn’t kill the village chief—because if the officials came to collect taxes, it would be troublesome if the village chief wasn’t there.
Although the process was troublesome, the result was good.
After spewing a bunch of threats, the villagers now treated the two living here with utmost respect.
Fortunately, this place was poor enough that there were no landlords or wealthy merchants or anything like that—otherwise, it would have been trouble.
Tossing aside the random thoughts in his mind, just as the young man calmed his mood and was about to get up to make breakfast, the voice rang out.
There’s good news and bad news—which do you want to hear first?
The voice in his heart popped up again, its tone always carrying a bit of mischievous flavor.
I don’t want to hear either.
Whatever news you say, good or bad, it’s all bad for me.
Nanxi replied in his mind, while reaching for the crutch by the bed.
Unknowingly, he and the other self in his heart could already converse naturally, like friends—though the young man had few friends from childhood to now.
That’s really hurtful—I’m being kind here.
If you’re really kind, then shut up and let me have some peace.
Nanxi no longer paid attention to that voice; he stood up with the crutch.
The morning light slanted in from the dilapidated wooden window, shining on his snow-like long hair, casting a silver-white halo on the simple mud floor.
Putting on the gray hemp clothes placed by the pillow, he began busying himself at the stove with the crutch.
He walked to the water vat in the corner, scooped half a ladle of water, and simply washed up.
There were some fine sediments in this water; drinking it had an earthy smell—of course, Nanxi drank it after boiling.
Next to the water vat was the stove, built from a few stones, with a chipped iron pot on top.
It didn’t look great, but it was usable.
Nanxi picked up the dry bamboo nearby and stuffed it into the furnace, then took out a fire striker from his bosom, ignited some wood shavings, and tossed them in.
Starting the fire, Nanxi gutted the fish Huang Muzhi brought back last night, scraped off the scales with a kitchen knife, then threw them into a small basket made of rough rope on the side, and finally tossed the small fish into the pot to boil soup.
No oil, no spices, just a bit of coarse salt—still fishy, but it could fill the stomach.
When the water in the pot began to bubble and gurgle, rustling sounds came from outside the house.
It was the owner of the house returning.
Huang Muzhi walked in from outside with her catch; as usual, she wore a thin coarse cloth short shirt, revealing her dark but sturdy arms.
Her messy yellow hair was casually tied in a knot at the back, with a few stray strands hanging over her forehead.
“Young master up so early?”
The woman’s voice carried gentleness; her gaze landed on Nanxi, and when it met the young man’s eyes, she unconsciously dodged a bit.
“I’m used to it—wash your hands and come eat.”
“Oh, okay.”
Huang Muzhi walked to the water vat and scooped water to wash her hands.
Her movements were large; water splashed everywhere, a few drops even landing by Nanxi’s feet.
She hurriedly looked up, saw that Nanxi had no reaction, and then breathed a sigh of relief.
Sigh.
And Nanxi, noticing everything, sighed in his heart. Over these two months, he had noticed many things.
For example, Huang Muzhi always didn’t dare to look him straight in the eye—when speaking, she either lowered her head or looked elsewhere.
For example, she would secretly touch his things: the hand towel used to wipe hands, a common small wooden stick he whittled to use as chopsticks, even his changed clothes.
For example, now—after washing her face, she pretended to casually pass by him, her elbow lightly brushing his sleeve.
A very light brush, so light it was almost imperceptible.
But Nanxi felt it.
He sighed again in his heart.
The fish soup in the pot was done boiling—a milky white broth, wafting a faint fishy aroma.
Nanxi ladled two bowls, handing one to Huang Muzhi and holding one himself, sitting on the small wooden stool by the door.
Huang Muzhi took the bowl and sat on the threshold beside him; the two sat side by side like this, silently sipping the soup.
The morning light grew brighter; the horizon at the end of the sea glowed golden red.
The fishing village began to stir with human voices: men yelling for children to get up, women checking fishing nets and boats, and the sounds of dogs barking and chickens crowing.
“Going to the seaside later?”
Nanxi asked idly.
“Mm, the nets set in the morning need to be collected, or the fish will run away.”
“Be careful.”
“I know.”
After the brief conversation, it was silence again.
Huang Muzhi finished the soup in a few gulps, put the bowl on the ground, got up to pack the things needed for fishing: a tattered fishing net, a fish basket, and a crude harpoon made from a sharpened wooden stick.
Nanxi watched her busy back and suddenly spoke.
“I’ll go with you later.”
Huang Muzhi’s movements paused; she turned back to look at him, her face showing astonishment.
“Young master’s leg isn’t healed yet—the path to the seaside isn’t easy to walk.”
“Better than being cooped up in the house; my leg has improved a lot these days. Besides, I can help by chatting with you or something.”
“But……”
“No buts.”
Nanxi didn’t give her a chance to refuse.
The path to the seaside was indeed hard to walk, full of gravel and potholes; Nanxi walked very slowly with the crutch, but steadily.
Huang Muzhi walked beside him, wanting to reach out to support him several times but not daring, only following step by step.
The morning breeze blew over, bringing the salty taste of the tide.
There were already people on the beach—a few women mending fishing nets.
Seeing Huang Muzhi and Nanxi approach, they all stopped what they were doing and stared straight at the two.
Such gazes made Huang Muzhi quite uncomfortable; the young man naturally saw her embarrassment.
He stopped, said nothing, just quietly looked; those women initially had displeasure on their faces, but after being looked at by Nanxi for a few seconds, they sullenly lowered their heads and continued mending nets.
After getting rid of these gazes, the two continued walking.
They arrived; this was where Huang Muzhi set her nets—a relatively calm shallow beach, the seawater clear, where one could see small fish swimming below.
Huang Muzhi put down the fish basket, rolled up her pant legs, and was about to wade in.
“Wait—where’s the net?”
Nanxi called to her.
“There—the net is tied to the rock.”
Nanxi looked in the direction she pointed and saw a hemp rope tied to a reef, the other end submerged in the water.
“You go collect it; I’ll wait here.”
Huang Muzhi responded and waded toward the reef; the seawater covered her calves, then her thighs.
She walked steadily, obviously long accustomed to it.
Nanxi found a flat rock on the beach to sit on, placed the crutch aside; the morning light shone on the sea surface, sparkling waves.
In the distance, seabirds circled, letting out clear cries.
A very serene scene.
If not for those troublesome matters, staying here for a while might not be bad.
What, reluctant to leave?
That voice rang in his heart again.
Shut up.
Tsk tsk tsk, you were pretty cute just now protecting this big woman, but now talking to me, you become uncute.
Nanxi was too lazy to respond, his gaze following Huang Muzhi in the sea.
She had already swum to the reef’s edge, untying the rope; the seawater soaked her clothes, the fabric clinging to her body, outlining her robust yet feminine curves.
She pulled the net hard, the muscles on her arms tensing, her face full of focus.
The net gradually emerged from the water, silver flashes inside—it was fish.
Quite a few fish.
Huang Muzhi’s eyes lit up; she pulled the net even harder.
When the whole net came up, the amount of fish inside stunned her.
“So many……”
She murmured to herself, then thought of something and turned to look at Nanxi on the shore.
Nanxi smiled at her.
Huang Muzhi’s face reddened; she quickly lowered her head to collect the net, picking the fish one by one and throwing them into the basket.
Her movements were faster than usual; in no time, the basket was full, heavy.
She waded back with the basket, her face showing unconcealed joy.
“Young master, look— so many fish!”
Nanxi leaned over to look; indeed, quite a few—about twenty or so palm-sized sea fish, lively and jumping.
“Not bad—enough to eat for several days.”
“Can sell some too.”