The house held its own warmth even when the world outside didn't. As morning crept across the tatami, Xu Mingyue rinsed his face with water cupped from a small basin. The cold stung briefly—sharp, clean—reminding him he was alive, anchored, thinking.
MOI's projection hovered beside the low table, her form steadier now, as if sunrise had given her edges something to grip.
"Administrator," she said, "I have completed a preliminary diagnostic of internal systems."
Mingyue dried his hands on a cloth. "Report."
"Pocket-space stable. Energy reserves: low, but functional. Dimensional shop interface reachable at minimal power. Inventory appraisal: enabled. Defensive protocols: standby. Structural functions: partial."
"So we can shop," he said, tone dry, not amused but mildly impressed.
"At limited capacity," she clarified. "Bandwidth is constrained. Item categories available: Tier-1 necessities only—water purification, basic tools, binding agents, low-cost food rations."
"And MT cost?"
"Directly proportional to real-world market prices," MOI said. "Efficiency will remain low until mansion upgrades."
He nodded, absorbing the parameters.
Eighteen MT from a chipped porcelain cup was not nothing. It was enough to patch holes and keep someone alive. Not enough to waste. Decisions would matter.
He fastened his pack with calm, careful hands. "We'll use the shop later. First, we find the survivors you mentioned."
"Yes," MOI said. "Cluster located three li east. Life signs: weak but stable."
"Let's go."
He stepped outside.
Cold air rolled across the porch, brushing along his jaw as if the world still remembered how to move. The dead fields lay beneath a muted sky—ashen light diffused through dust, a landscape that had forgotten color.
He walked with the same unhurried pace he used in boardrooms—measured, observing, unreactive. The house behind him felt like a fixed axis; the land ahead, a broken equation waiting to be solved.
Fissures cut across the ground like old scars. Dry stalks crumbled beneath his boots. A windless quiet stretched wide.
Halfway down the slope, MOI's voice hummed lightly.
"Administrator," she said, "I am detecting movement. Human. Approximately fifty meters to the northeast."
He paused.
A figure appeared at the edge of a collapsed granary—broad-shouldered, tall even at a distance, shirt hanging off a frame that had clearly lost weight to hunger but still held undeniable solidity. The man's posture was steady despite the cracked earth beneath him; he moved without hesitation, like someone who had survived on instinct long before logic failed.
His head turned, sensing Mingyue the same way some animals sensed storms.
The air shifted.
Even across fifty meters, his presence carried like a grounded heartbeat—a physical answer to a failing world.
He didn't approach. He just looked.
Unpolished, sunburnt skin. Heavy muscle under famine-thinned limbs. Strong jaw, a faint scar along the temple. Dark eyes trained on Mingyue with a mixture of alertness and—unexpectedly—quiet awe.
Not hunger.
Not desperation.
Something else.
Mingyue didn't break the stare. He merely lifted a hand in acknowledgment, the gesture small but assured.
The man blinked once, as if stabilizing his own breath.
Then—slowly—he nodded back.
No words exchanged, but something passed between them.
Recognition without familiarity.
Interest without threat.
A thread, thin but real.
MOI spoke quietly. "Subject identified: male adult. Physical profile indicates above-standard strength. Malnutrition: moderate. Injury markers: right shoulder strain, healing fractures in ribs three and four. Temperament: non-aggressive."
Mingyue murmured, "We'll approach after addressing the village cluster."
He didn't know why he said after, only that the timing felt right.
They continued.
The village lay like a collapsed lung—structures sagging inward, thatch roofs fallen into piles of brittle reeds. A woman crouched beside a makeshift shelter, a child limp in her arms. When she saw Mingyue approaching, her gaze sharpened—fear, calculation, resignation.
He stopped several steps away.
"May I come closer?" he asked softly.
She hesitated, then gave a small, cautious nod.
He knelt to her level. Not intrusive, not savior-like—present.
The child's cheeks were hollow. Eyes half-open. Mouth cracked. Mingyue pulled a tin of preserved porridge from his pack and warmed it on his small burner. The aroma drifted faintly—grain, soft sweetness, something the world had nearly forgotten.
The woman's breath hitched.
Not greed.
Not shock.
A kind of fragile longing.
Mingyue offered the bowl, steady hands making no demands.
The woman accepted it like a sacred object and coaxed the child awake. Tiny fingers gripped weakly, then the child ate—slow, clumsy, desperate but controlled.
A noise came from behind them—a low, skeptical grunt.
An older man stepped from the shadow of a collapsed wall. Lean frame. Suspicious eyes. Authority tucked into the wrinkles of his brow. A former village leader, maybe.
"What's this, then?" he rasped. "City man comes in with food and tricks? You want something? A hand? A night? People don't give for free."
His tone wasn't hostile—it was defeated, weary, defensive.
Mingyue regarded him with the quiet steadiness of someone who had weathered far worse challenges than suspicion.
"I'm not bargaining with hunger," he said. "We trade when you're safe, not before. Survival comes first."
His voice wasn't sharp. It didn't rise. It didn't plead. It simply replaced the old man's assumption with truth.
A subtle face-slap—clean, non-violent, precise.
The old man faltered. His jaw tightened. Then something in his stance eased. A soft concession.
"...Hmph," he said. "Fine."
Mingyue checked the child's pulse. Weak, but present.
"Is there water nearby?" he asked.
"A spring," the woman whispered. "But it's nearly gone."
"Show me."
They reached a shallow basin of stones, where a thin trickle of water glistened. Barely enough to wet a fingertip. But it was something.
MOI's projection materialized beside him, light shimmering like breath on glass.
"Contamination detected," she said. "High particulate load. Recommend filtration, boiling, charcoal purification."
The woman looked startled. The old man took a half-step back.
"You—what are you?" he murmured.
MOI didn't blink. "Operational Intelligence. Non-hostile."
Mingyue said simply, "She offers information. That's all."
He knelt, rolling up his sleeves. The atmosphere warmed around his presence—not magical, simply human. Steady hands, calm breath. The opposite of crisis.
He taught them how to layer cloth.
How to charcoal a filter.
How to boil safely.
How to listen for changes in water flow.
How to pace rations.
Practical. Mature. Grounded.
The villagers watched with a mixture of caution and relief.
A subtle shift—acceptance formed not from awe, but from competence.
When Mingyue stood, wiping dust from his palms, MOI's voice sounded again.
"Administrator," she said, quiet.
"Movement detected."
Mingyue followed her gaze.
Down the slope, beside the broken granary, the tall man again—closer this time, leaning against a beam as though debating whether to approach.
That guy again.
His eyes were fixed on Mingyue, not hungry, not desperate—drawn. As if seeing someone impossible in a world that had delivered nothing but disappointment.
The woman whispered, "That's the farmer from the upper ridge. Strongest man here. Carries others when they can't walk. Doesn't talk much."
The old man added, "Hard worker. Too stubborn. Won't eat unless others eat first."
Mingyue's gaze lingered on him, the famine-hardened shoulders, the way his hand braced the wood, the quiet steadiness of someone used to pain.
MOI projected data softly.
"Subject designation: unknown male. Physical strength: high. Willpower indicators: high. Behavioral pattern suggests protectiveness. Likely ally."
Mingyue breathed once.
Then he lifted his chin slightly—an unspoken invitation.
He hesitated…
…then walked toward him.
Slow.
Measured.
Drawn to him like a tide pulled by gravity.
When they stood close enough to see each other's faces clearly, His breath hitched—barely audible. His eyes traced Mingyue's features with a stunned softness, like a man who had forgotten beauty existed.
"You…" He began, voice low, rough from disuse.
He swallowed.
"You're not from here."
Mingyue met his gaze, calm and clear.
"No," he said. "But I'm staying."
Li Yun blinked, stunned again.
Something in him softened, cracked open, warmed.
In a famine world, hope arrived wearing human shape.