Night had fallen, and Da Qiang, looking despondent, had come to the house. Da Qing had been sitting at the table all this while, with his younger son looking up eagerly at him, "Daddy, I want more meat noodles."
The boy's tiny body was as thin as a rack of ribs, his face the color of nutrient-poor clay, which made Da Qing unbearably sad. His wife whispered a few words into both their ears then touched their son's face, her voice low, "You two think it over carefully."
In the village enveloped by night, many villagers gathered in the darkness, quietly discussing amongst themselves.
"You all saw it, didn't you? They can conjure up food and water out of thin air, they can help us for a long time."
"They are leaving tomorrow! I didn't even get a bite of rice!"
"As long as we keep them here, tie them up, we won't have to worry about water!"
"Are you crazy?"
"It's better than starving to death!"
