The words hung in the hot air. The sellers exchanged glances, some skeptical, some thoughtful. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the distant clatter of tools in the mine.
Yanchen stood beneath the weight of the sun, unflinching. He thought of Mianmian again, not of her smile this time, but of her steady hands serving, of the quiet way she had built something of her own.
Endurance.
That was what mattered.
Endurance and vision.
By late afternoon, the outlines of an agreement had begun to form. Not final, not binding, but a path forward. Themba caught Yanchen's eye once as the sellers withdrew briefly to confer, giving him a small nod of respect.
"You handle yourself well, boss.." he murmured. "Not many can stand here and not sweat more than the sun makes them."
Yanchen allowed the faintest curve of a smile. "I've weathered hotter days."
