The wind, swirling with snow, had just died down a little. A pale, grey light leaked from the horizon, and the crooked wooden fence of the Farmers house creaked under the weight of the snow, sounding as if it might fall apart at any moment.
Gwof held Leahs hand as they stepped through the gate. The soles of their boots crunched sharply against the stone slabs covered in a thin layer of ice.
The scene in the courtyard came into view—the Farmer, wearing a coarse cloth coat with several patches and shiny, worn-out cuffs, was stooped over, grooming a donkey. He rubbed a handful of snowy hay in his palms until it softened before offering it to the donkeys mouth. The donkey flicked its dusty tail, chewing with white steam puffing from its mouth;
The Farmers Wife squatted nearby, her blue headscarf flecked with snow. She held a chipped ceramic bowl, tossing handfuls of bran into the donkey trough. The bran fell onto the snow like scattered bits of gold.
A bundle of dry firewood was stacked against the wall, and Little Bottle sat cross-legged on top of it. He clutched a piece of rye bread, crumbs falling as he chewed, dotting his clothes like scattered sesame seeds.
Seeing Gwof enter, he gulped down the bread in his mouth with a heavy thump, nearly choking. As he hurriedly stood up, he knocked over half the woodpile, which went clattering across the ground.
He didnt even bother to pick them up or brush the crumbs off his face. Instead, he wore a fawning smile, his voice tinged with a bit of grievance.
"Master! Youre finally here! This bread is like a rock; it makes my jaw ache. Your candy is much better!"
Gwof glanced at him, a hint of amusement hidden in his eyes—how could he not know what this devils heart was thinking? He was clearly tired of the tasteless black bread he had been given and was craving the candy Gwof could summon with magic.
He intentionally reached into his pocket slowly, tracing a small circle in the air with his fingertip. Several shiny red packages of Spicy Strip appeared out of thin air in his palm. The oily packaging shimmered in the snowy light, and the spicy aroma could be smelled from a distance.
"Here," he said, tossing the Spicy Strip over, his tone indifferent. "Stuff your mouth with these so youll stop being so noisy."
Little Bottle caught them with lightning speed. There was a sharp rip as he tore open the packaging. He didnt even bother to wipe the spicy oil splashing on the corners of his mouth as he poured a large handful into his mouth, nodding vigorously while sucking in air.
"Master really knows me! These Spicy Strip have a real kick! Ten times better than that black bread! The spice goes right through you!"
As he spoke, the Farmer rubbed the hay dust off his hands. He wiped his rough palms repeatedly against his coat, as if afraid of dirtying the guests. A simple, honest smile appeared on his dark face as he took a step forward.
"Are you the one looking to buy a donkey?"
His gaze was direct, possessing the straightforwardness unique to those who work the land. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes moved as he spoke.
"These two donkeys are the sturdiest in my house. Theyre good for hauling goods or riding, though theyre a bit wild and need to be petted the right way."
"Yes."
Gwof replied, his gaze sweeping over the two donkeys—their coats were shiny, as if they had just been brushed, and their hooves were as thick as small palm-leaf fans. They stood tall and proud in the snow, looking very robust.
He added,
"I also wanted to ask where we are. The snow was too heavy, and we lost our way."
As he spoke, he pulled a piece of gold from his robe. The gold nugget shimmered with a warm yellow light in the snow. When he handed it over, the Farmers hand visibly paused, recoiling slightly as if he had been burned.
The ceramic bowl in the Farmers Wifes hand hit the edge of the donkey trough with a clang, spilling bran everywhere. She waved her hands frantically, shaking the snow off her coarse blue headscarf.
"This is too much! Sir, we couldnt possibly take all this!"
The smile lines around her eyes were filled with unease, and she even stuttered a little as she spoke.
"Buying two donkeys doesnt cost nearly this much. A few silver coins would be plenty. This gold... we Farmers might not see a piece this big in our entire lives. We cant accept it."
The Farmer also chimed in quickly, his dark face flushed red as if he had been drinking. He pushed the gold back toward Gwofs chest, his fingertips trembling—his knuckles were red from the cold, and dirt was embedded under his fingernails.
"Thats right, Sir. This is the edge of the Kingdom of the Water Cup. This gold is really too much. We Farmers only take what weve earned; any more makes us uneasy."
Gwof pressed the gold back into the Farmers hands, his fingertips touching the mans cold, stiff coat. The fabric was as hard as an iron plate. "Take it. Its only right to give more for directions and the donkeys. Besides, these donkeys look spirited; theyre worth the price."
He paused, and seeing that the Farmers Wife still wanted to speak, he added, "If you truly feel bad about it, how about we stay the night? Consider it payment for the extra money."
He glanced at the falling snow. "This snow wont stop anytime soon. Its a good time to rest."
He turned back to the two donkeys by the trough. One of them was nuzzling the Farmers Wifes arm as if acting spoiled, its mane brushing against her sleeve in a very affectionate manner.
"Ill take both. Please prepare the saddles for us. Well set out once the snow lets up a bit."
"If that is still not enough, then you can just help people in the future."
The Farmers Wife finally snapped out of it, her unease fading into warmth.
"Oh! Thats no trouble at all! Theres hot soup on the stove, radish and mutton. Come inside and warm up!"
She then gestured to Leah. "This... girl, you come in too! The snow is heavy out here; dont catch a cold!"
As she lifted the door curtain, a wave of heat mixed with the scent of radish and mutton surged out, carrying a hint of peppery spice that dissipated some of the courtyards chill.
The Farmer also laughed, revealing two rows of yellow teeth, and hurried toward the woodshed.
"Ill go get the best saddles right now! They were newly made last year, padded with thick cotton, so they wont be uncomfortable to ride!"
Little Bottle approached with a Spicy Strip in his mouth, sucking in air from the heat, and said indistinctly,
"That was a clever move, Master! As soon as you brought out the gold, their eyes went wide!"
Gwof ignored him and simply led Leah into the house.
The fire in the hearth was burning brightly, the flames crackling and dancing. Cabbages freshly peeled and glowing green were stacked in a corner. The air was filled with the aroma of meat soup, making it much warmer than the wind and snow outside—even the restlessness in his heart was smoothed over by this homely atmosphere.
The Farmers Wife attended to them and mentioned she was going to kill a chicken. She told them to rest in the house and then went out.
Just as she lifted the curtain and left, before the heat in the room could dissipate, Gwof sat down on a wooden chair, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest—the chair was warm from the fire.
His gaze swept over the sacks piled in the corner (half a bag of potatoes was visible) and then landed on the dried peppers and corn hanging above the fireplace. The room smelled faintly of firewood mixed with the scent of meat soup, giving off a solid sense of warmth.
Little Bottle squatted by the hearth, still clutching half a package of Spicy Strip, his mouth stuffed full. Seeing a roasted sweet potato by the fire with its skin starting to char, he reached out to grab it, quickly rubbing his hands from the heat and hissing as he sucked in cold air, looking just like a thieving Squirrel.
Leah sat on a small wooden stool next to the fireplace, poking at the coals with a thin stick. The flames crackled and jumped as she stirred them, reflecting a rosy glow on her cheeks. The snow on the tips of her hair had long since melted into water droplets, sliding down her ears.
Suddenly, a clear chicken squawk came from the courtyard, followed by the frantic flapping of wings. Finally, the cry rose sharply before coming to an abrupt halt. Leahs hand trembled, and the thin stick fell to the floor with a clang. She looked up at Gwof, a hint of fear in her eyes.
Gwof didnt say anything, but the tapping of his fingers stopped.
Suddenly, a cold wind swirling with snow blew in through the crack in the door, cutting against their faces like small knives.
When the Farmer squeezed through the door, the snow on his coarse cotton coat instantly turned into water droplets, dripping down from the hem and forming a small puddle by the threshold.
The bundle of coarse cloth in his arms was fluttering even more vigorously. The flapping sound, combined with his heavy breathing, made the warm room feel particularly lively.
"Sir! Look what I found!"
The Farmer grinned, his lips purple from the cold, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. Snowflakes were still embedded in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
He held the object in his arms closer to Gwof. As the coarse cloth loosened slightly, it revealed a grey, bedraggled thing—if it was a bird, it looked more like a clump of molted rags:
Its feathers were bald in patches, revealing the pink skin underneath, stained with black mud and ice shards;
One wing was bent unnaturally, as if broken, while the other flapped feebly, bringing with it the fishy smell of river mud;
Its eyes were half-closed, with a layer of white mist over the pupils, looking so withered it seemed it might stop breathing at any moment.
"I had just finished sewing the saddle for you and thought Id go to the ice hole in the river for a bucket of fresh water when I saw it splashing around in the ice."
The Farmers hands were red from the cold, his knuckles as thick as old tree roots, yet he held the cloth bundle carefully, for fear of hurting the bird inside.
"I reckon its a water bird. Maybe it got greedy for fish and fell into the ice hole and froze stiff."
His eyes shone with simple excitement.
"Its for you! This bird looks quite clever, its eyes are very bright. Once its warmed up, it might even be able to fly!"
Little Bottle had just stuffed a Spicy Strip back into his mouth. Hearing this, he leaned over to take a look. Half a Spicy Strip fell from his mouth onto his clothes, but he didnt even bother to pick it up. He clicked his tongue and said,
"Whoa! This bird is even uglier than the Spicy Strip Im eating! Its so bald; was it scratched by a cat or something?"
As he spoke, he reached out to poke the birds bald feathers, but Leah swatted his hand away.
She didnt say anything, but she pushed the stool in front of her aside to make room for the bird closer to the flames. Her eyes held a trace of pity—the way the bird was curled into a ball reminded her of the little dog with a broken leg she had encountered last time; it had been just as withered, yet it always secretly opened its eyes to look at her when no one was around.
Gwofs fingertips rubbed back and forth on the armrest.
He looked at the birds withered state. Its skin under the bald patches was purple from the cold, yet it was still feebly fluttering, as if unwilling to give up just like that.
Suddenly, a certain fellow came to mind—the Ugly Duckling.
Gwofs gaze fell on the birds fluttering wing. Although there werent many feathers on it, he could see that the roots of the feathers were white, faintly shimmering with a silver light.
He suddenly spoke, his voice a bit softer than before: "The snow is heavy outside. Let it warm up by the hearth first."
The Farmer immediately beamed and carefully placed the cloth bundle in the space Leah had cleared, only half a foot away from the fireplace flames.
The flames crackled as they licked the firewood, casting an orange-red light onto the birds bald patches. The bird seemed to feel more comfortable; its fluttering slowed, and its eyes slowly opened a bit wider, revealing a clear ring of blue inside, like the surface of a frozen lake.
Little Bottle curled his lip and picked up the Spicy Strip from the floor, stuffing it back into his mouth.
"Ugly as it is, if it really can fly, that would be quite a rare sight."
Leah didnt speak. She simply took a piece of unfinished wheat cake from the stove, crumbled it with her hands, and scattered the crumbs next to the cloth bundle. Her eyes were bright, as if she were expecting something.