1
The morning started with a basket.
Granny Liu appeared at his door before the sun was fully up, carrying a large wicker basket and wearing a determined expression. She pointed to the basket, then to the forest edge visible beyond the village, then to Tomás.
Nǐ lái - she said. You come.
Tomás did not need to understand the words to understand the meaning. He grabbed his notebook, tucked it inside his robe, and followed.
They walked past the last houses of the village, past the small gardens, and stopped at the edge of the forest. Granny Liu surveyed the tree line with the eye of someone who had done this a thousand times. Then she chose a path, narrow and winding, and entered the woods.
Tomás followed close behind.
The forest was different from the open slopes where he had woken up. Here, the trees grew close together, their crowns blocking most of the sky. The light filtered through in patches, creating a mosaic of shadows on the forest floor. The air was cool, humid, thick with the smell of decaying leaves and growing things.
Granny Liu walked slowly, her eyes scanning the ground. Every few steps, she stopped, crouched, and examined something. Sometimes she moved on. Sometimes she reached down and picked whatever she had found, placing it carefully in her basket.
Tomás watched, fascinated. He recognized some of the plants from his walks near the village, but here, in the deeper shade, there were new ones. Ferns with fronds that curled like spirals. Mosses in shades of green he had never seen. And mushrooms.
Mushrooms everywhere.
Some were small and brown, almost invisible against the leaf litter. Others were bright red with white spots, like something from a children's book. A few were large, flat, growing on the sides of rotting logs.
Granny Liu stopped by a fallen tree and pointed to a cluster of mushrooms growing from the bark. They were golden-brown, with caps the size of saucers and gills that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
She said a word: "Jīn'ergū."
Tomás repeated it, writing it immediately in his notebook along with a quick sketch. Jīn'ergū. Golden ear mushrooms. He pointed to them and made a questioning gesture: edible?
Granny Liu nodded and mimed putting one in her mouth, then rubbed her stomach with a satisfied expression. Very edible. Delicious, even.
Then she pointed to another mushroom, this one growing at the base of a tree. It was white, elegant, with a slender stem and a delicate cap. She said: "Báidùgū." White poison mushroom. She made a face of disgust and drew a finger across her throat.
Tomás understood. Deadly.
He wrote it down carefully, adding a large X next to the sketch. Báidùgū. Poisonous. Do not eat.
2
They spent the morning like that. Granny Liu would point, name, and demonstrate. Edible or poisonous? Good flavor or bad? Used for medicine or food? Tomás would write, sketch, and ask the occasional question with his limited vocabulary.
He learned that some mushrooms only grew near certain trees. That others appeared only after rain. That the bright red ones with white spots were not just poisonous but hallucinogenic, and some people used them for rituals, though Granny Liu made a face that suggested she did not approve.
He learned the words for "cap" (mào), "stem" (bǐng), and "gills" (sāi). He learned that some mushrooms were better dried than fresh, and others lost their flavor completely if not cooked immediately.
By midday, his notebook had ten new pages. His fingers were stained with ink and mushroom spores. And his mind was buzzing with questions.
They stopped to rest by a small stream. Granny Liu produced a wrapped bundle from her basket: flatbread and some dried meat. She shared it with Tomás without asking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
While they ate, she looked at his notebook with curiosity. He opened it to the mushroom pages and showed her his sketches.
She studied them carefully, then pointed to one of the drawings and shook her head. She pointed to the mushroom in the basket, the real one, then back to the drawing, and made a correcting motion with her hand.
Tomás looked closer. He had drawn the gills incorrectly. In his sketch, they were straight lines radiating from the stem. In reality, they were slightly curved, almost like a spiral.
He nodded, embarrassed, and corrected the drawing. Granny Liu smiled and patted his hand.
Xuéxí - she said. Learning.
Xuéxí - he repeated.
3
On the way back, they passed through a part of the forest where the trees were younger, thinner. Sunlight reached the ground here, and the undergrowth was thick with bushes and small plants.
Granny Liu stopped suddenly and held up a hand. Tomás froze.
She was looking at something ahead. Tomás followed her gaze and saw it: a deer. Or something like a deer. It was about the size of a small horse, with a sleek gray coat and long, delicate legs. But its antlers were not normal. They branched and rebranched in complex patterns, and at each tip, a small blue light glowed faintly, like a firefly trapped in bone.
The creature was eating leaves from a bush, completely unaware of them.
Granny Liu put a finger to her lips and slowly, carefully, began to back away. Tomás followed, moving as silently as he could.
They retreated until the creature was out of sight, then Granny Liu let out a breath.
Língshòu - she whispered. Spiritual beast.
Tomás wrote the word immediately. Língshòu. He pointed back in the direction of the creature and made a questioning gesture: dangerous?
Granny Liu nodded. Then she made a gesture of eating, of hunting. Some people hunt them. But not us. Too dangerous. Too hard.
Tomás nodded. He understood. The creature was not just an animal. It was something more. Something connected to the "spiritual" world he kept hearing about.
As they walked back to the village, he wrote in his notebook:
"Língshòu. Spiritual beast. Deer-like, gray coat, glowing blue antlers. Seen in forest near village. Granny Liu says dangerous, hunted by some. Need to observe more. Need to understand relationship with plants it was eating."
4
Back in the village, Xiao Wang was waiting for him.
Tomás! - the boy ran up, excited - Where go?
Tomás pointed to the forest and made a gathering motion. Mushrooms.
Wang's eyes widened. He pointed to the basket Granny Liu was carrying and asked something in rapid Chinese. Tomás caught only a few words: "see?" and "show?"
Granny Liu laughed and shooed the boy away, but not before pulling out a small, harmless mushroom and giving it to him. Wang clutched it like a treasure and ran off to show his friends.
Tomás watched him go, smiling.
He went to his house, sat by the hearth, and spent the next hour organizing his notes. The mushroom pages needed to be in order, with clear distinctions between edible and poisonous. He added small drawings of the deer-like creature, though he wished he had seen it closer.
When he finished, he heard a knock at the door.
It was Wei Chen.
Tomás. I came to... - he searched for the word - practice. Your language.
Tomás smiled and gestured for him to sit.
Wei Chen sat on the floor, looking around the small room with curiosity. He noticed the pots with drawings, the notebook, the ink and brush.
You work hard - he said.
I have to - Tomás replied - There is so much I do not know.
Wei Chen nodded. Then he pointed to himself and said, slowly and carefully:
I... am... Wei Chen.
Tomás understood. He was practicing English sentences.
I am Tomás - he replied.
Wei Chen repeated: "I am To-más." Then he pointed to Tomás and said: "You are Tomás."
Yes - Tomás nodded - You are Wei Chen.
Wei Chen smiled, pleased. He took out a small scroll from his robe and unrolled it. On it, he had written several English words, copied from Tomás's notebook: "water," "fire," "plant," "leaf." The letters were uneven, some even backwards, but recognizable.
Tomás pointed to "water" and said:
Water.
Wei Chen repeated: "Wa-ter." Then he pointed to the character for water on the scroll and said: "Shuǐ."
Shuǐ - Tomás repeated.
They went through the list like that, back and forth, each learning the other's words. It was slow, sometimes frustrating, but also strangely satisfying.
After an hour, Wei Chen rolled up his scroll and stood to leave.
Tomorrow - he said - I bring more words. You teach me more.
Deal - Tomás said, using the English word again.
Wei Chen smiled. "Deal," he repeated, and left.
5
That night, Tomás could not sleep.
He lay on his straw bed, listening to the wind in the Shenmu, thinking about everything he had seen. The mushrooms with their infinite variety. The deer with its glowing antlers. The way Granny Liu had corrected his drawing without judgment, simply showing him the truth.
He thought about Wei Chen, the scholar who wanted to learn a language from another world. About Xiao Wang, the boy who saw him not as a monster but as a friend. About Granny Liu, who shared her food and her knowledge without expecting anything in return.
He had lost his world. But he was building something new here. Slowly. Patiently. One plant at a time.
He took out his notebook and, by the faint moonlight, wrote a final entry for the day:
"Today I learned about mushrooms. I learned that some kill and some feed. I learned that Granny Liu has been gathering in these forests for decades, maybe longer, and that her knowledge is as precise as any scientific paper, even if she does not write it down. I learned that there are beasts in this world that glow with light, and that they are connected to the plants they eat.
I learned that Wei Chen practices English words when I am not watching. I learned that Xiao Wang treasures a small mushroom like a gift from the gods.
I learned that I am not alone here.
Tomorrow I will learn more."
He closed the notebook, put it under his bed, and closed his eyes.
Outside, the Shenmu whispered in the wind. And for the first time, it sounded less like a warning and more like a welcome.