The sea wind tugged at the hem of my tunic, and I could feel the cold beginning to seep in. Still, I lingered. There was something sacred about this place. A kind of silence that asked you to listen.
It was closer to the mountains, and the villagers were understandably wary of wild animals. Rumors of wolves, boars, and even the 'occasional wandering spirit' made the area unpopular, especially for families with children.
The village elders often spoke of old stories, of how people who lived too close to the mountain eventually stopped coming down, or how strange sounds echoed through the trees on misty mornings.
But my parents, though poor, had been young and capable when they first married. Without elders to tie them down and with no home to inherit, they had little to lose and everything to prove. So, when the village chief offered them this rundown house at the edge of the wild, they accepted it with open arms. For them, the nearness of danger was outweighed by opportunity.
Living here meant my father could hunt in the forest and fish in the nearby sea. My mother, with her strong hands and practical sense, learned to gather herbs from the cliffs and roots from the earth. It wasn't much, but it was enough. They made a life for themselves here, threadbare but whole, always walking the thin line between survival and scarcity.
This land, though with all its dangers, had given them something that i need right now: freedom.
At the back of the property, my parents had also purchased a modest piece of land with the intent to cultivate it. That was where my feet carried me now. It was supposed to be a small wheat field, something to ease our hunger through the seasons, maybe even enough to sell a little in the town's market.
But reality had not been kind.
The moment I stepped past the crooked fence, a desolate sight greeted me. The field, once hopeful and freshly tilled, had fallen into disrepair. Brown, brittle stalks of failed harvests drooped like forgotten skeletons in the breeze.
Weeds had all but claimed the land. Thistles, wild grass, and thorny runners tangled around the furrows, choking out any order.
It was clear that my parents had abandoned it long ago.
Not out of laziness, I knew, but out of necessity. With mouths to feed and barely enough food to go around, the energy it took to tend a stubborn, infertile plot was more than they could spare.
They had poured what little strength they had into other survival efforts, hunting, fishing, foraging. Wheat that never grew strong enough to harvest wasn't worth the backbreaking effort.
I stood in the center of it all, letting the cold wind tug at my sleeves. Green stirred in my mind, her presence brushing gently through my thoughts like a whisper.
"As a farm fairy, this place is just too pitiful," Green huffed dramatically, her tiny voice full of mock indignation as I crouched down and ran my fingers through the dry, cracked soil.
I let her words settle as I looked around. The overgrowth here was thick but not impenetrable. It was tucked behind our house, shaded partially by trees and entirely hidden from the view of the village, it was like a secret.
No gossiping aunties, no sharp-tongued neighbors. If this land were to turn fertile overnight, no one would question it, at least not aloud. It wasn't uncommon for nature to surprise people, and superstitions ran strong in our village. They'd simply chalk it up to the favor of the gods, and I'd be left alone to make full use of it.
I dug my fingers deeper into the soil, breaking apart a clump. Dry. Powdery. Deprived of any real nutrients. No wonder nothing grew here.
"Mei Lan'er, what are you doing in the fields? Come play with us!"
The voice of my youngest brother rang out clear and high, cutting through the quiet like a pebble skipping over still water. From where I crouched, I could see them in the distance—three familiar figures waving eagerly at me from the edge of the house. Their shadows stretched long in the late afternoon sun.
"Play, play, play," my second brother echoed, a slight whine in his tone as he turned toward the youngest. "All you ever wanna do is play. Can't you see Mei Mei is still recovering?" Despite his scolding, his eyes flicked toward me with just as much hope.
It was obvious that they still thought of me as the fragile, sickly sister who spent her days in bed, barely clinging to warmth.
"I can't play yet," I called out, shaking my head with a soft smile. My voice carried over as I stood in the midst of the weed-choked field, still crouched low, dirt clinging to my fingers.
From the corner of my eye, I saw them approaching, my brothers, like a small stampede of warmth and noise. My eldest brother, Shanyuan, was at the front, his longer legs eating up the distance quickly.
"Then... do you want to go out after a while?" Shanyuan offered gently as he reached me, stopping a respectable distance away. His voice was quiet, as if afraid I'd retreat again.
I looked up at him, a little startled by the thoughtfulness in his words. He wasn't pushing me to play. He wasn't insisting or teasing. He was simply offering an outstretched hand without pressure.
"Where would we go?" I asked, rising slowly to my feet and dusting my hands off on the hem of my patchwork clothes.
He shrugged, glancing off toward the edge of the hills. "Maybe the cliff? It's not far. We can watch the sea. Just sit for a while. You liked that spot."
A memory stirred in my chest, salt wind in my hair, a soft blanket spread over dry grass, my brothers pretending to be pirates as I pretended along with them.
"It's too cold, though..." I murmured, pulling the coat around me tighter as a chill wind passed through. "I'd like to go to the well instead."