Qingshan, how much farther is Red Willow from our current location? I'm utterly worn out from carrying your oversized excuse for a body," Lin Ziao said, a mischievous smirk appearing on his lips.
"Bèndàn. Always quick to mock your elders, and never the slightest hint of remorse," Qingshan retorted, giving Lin Ziao a firm smack on the shoulder.
"Who raised such a troublesome fool?" he muttered under his breath—though he hadn't meant to be heard, Lin Ziao caught every word.
"Please," Lin Ziao said, his expression dimming, "I'd rather not hear that. It stirs up wounds I've worked hard to keep closed."
Just then, a youthful, energetic voice called out from behind them.
"Chief Hunter Qingshan! I think I see Red Willow just ahead. It's not far now!"
Both Qingshan and Lin Ziao looked up, their eyes squinting at the distant silhouette of rooftops breaking through the trees. In unison, they let out sighs of relief.
"Red Willow—at last," Qingshan breathed.
"I'll finally be able to drop this heavy sack I've been carrying on my back," Lin Ziao added.
They exchanged glances and Qingshan shook his head with a tired smile. "You never learn, do you, Ziao?"
"I do," Lin Ziao replied, eyes gleaming. Then, without another word, both men burst into hearty laughter, the sound of their laughter echoing far and near as birds lifted gently from the trees above and the forest around them seemed to join in the joy.
As the group approached the village, their silhouettes became more visible and the villagers outside their homes began to see them more clearly.
"Look, it is the Chief Hunter Qingshan." "I told you he would be back." "Did I ever disagree?" "You liar."
The villagers began to talk amongst themselves and onlookers rushed to welcome the group home with wide smiles and waving hands, and children running barefoot on the path ahead of them.
"Who is that guy with the Chief on his back?" "I don't know, never seen him before."
The villagers crowded around, some offering water in wooden cups and others carrying fresh towels and mats for the tired hunters to sit and rest upon. The sun began to dip low over the hills and a gentle wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and boiling rice.
Old Ma, the village healer, was already walking toward them from her small hut by the herb garden with her tray of clay jars, clean cloths, and bundles of dried leaves tied with string. When she saw the state of the hunters, she clicked her tongue and began pointing.
"You there, sit. And you, let me see that bruise. Qingshan, don't pretend like you're fine. Lin Ziao, is it? You can help me grind this root. Your hands are steady enough, I hope."
The hunters chuckled and did as they were told while villagers watched with amused grins. Someone brought a pot of warm porridge which was shared amongst them all with thanks and small chatter that filled the air like a song.
Old Ma moved from one man to another with practiced care and soft humming. Her touch, though firm, was always kind. The hunters began to relax more and more, even those with deeper bruises or cuts, as her salves soothed the aches and wrapped bandages turned stiff limbs soft again.
Children watched curiously and a few copied her movements with dolls made of straw and twine. The fire in the middle of the square was lit and its warmth began to wrap around everyone like a blanket.
"You know," Qingshan said between spoonfuls of porridge, "there's no place in the world like Red Willow, and no hands like Old Ma's."
Lin Ziao smiled and nodded, watching the villagers move with ease and joy and kindness. He felt something warm grow in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long while—a quiet belonging.
The night fell slowly and stars came out above them like tiny lanterns. Still, the laughter continued and the smell of cooking lingered. No one was in a hurry and no one was afraid. The hunters, though tired and sore, leaned back with full bellies and easy hearts.
And Lin Ziao, resting his back against a tree and watching the soft flicker of lanterns on smiling faces, whispered to himself, "Maybe I've finally found a place to stay."
The next morning, sunlight peeked over the mountains and gently woke the village. Birds chirped softly, and the scent of steamed buns and herbs floated through the air. Lin Ziao stretched his limbs and sat up slowly. His muscles ached, but it was the ache of rest after long days of travel. He rubbed his neck, blinking in the gentle light.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Old Ma called out, already at work drying herbs on a large mat. "Come help me sort these before the dew dries."
Lin Ziao blinked in surprise but obeyed without complaint. Sitting beside her, he watched her hands move skillfully as she separated leaves and roots.
"You've got a good eye," she commented. "Not all young ones are this careful."
He smiled faintly. "I had to learn fast."
Villagers began to gather in the square, preparing for the morning meal and exchanging greetings. Hunters returned from short morning trips, bringing baskets of mushrooms and bundles of firewood. Children played tag while older folks sat in the shade, fanning themselves with woven palm leaves.
Qingshan appeared with a walking stick, though more for show than need. "Ziao! You're not hiding from chores, are you?"
"Just earning my place," Lin Ziao replied, holding up a bunch of sorted herbs. Qingshan laughed and sat down beside him, joining in the work.
Throughout the day, the village buzzed with peaceful activity. Stories were told by the fire, new songs were taught to the children, and the smell of roasted sweet potatoes and grilled fish filled the air. People stopped to greet Lin Ziao, curious but kind.
One child approached and held out a flower. "For you," she said shyly.
Lin Ziao accepted it with a small bow. "Thank you."
And as the sun began to set again, he stood at the edge of the village, looking out at the trees they had walked through. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
Red Willow was not just a name. It was a feeling—a place where every breeze carried laughter, where every face had a smile, where wounds, both seen and unseen, began to heal.
And for the first time in days, Lin Ziao felt no need to look behind him.