The quiet hum in my head grew softer, more thoughtful, like a lullaby beneath my skull. It wasn't unpleasant—just... present. I could almost picture Green floating with her head tilted, arms crossed as she assessed me like a sick plant she needed to nurse back to life.
"Master is very fragile," she finally said, her voice low and pensive. "But not broken. Not beyond fixing."
I didn't reply. There was no point in refuting the truth. My reflection, if I had a mirror—wouldn't lie. I looked every bit the part of someone discarded by the world. If I saw myself on the street, I would look away out of guilt.
Still, beneath the dirt, under the ghost-like hollowness of my cheeks, I could feel something new pulsing beneath the skin.
I set the bowl down and stood once more, slower this time, adjusting to the feel of my legs beneath me. They were unsteady, like branches bent from too much wind, but they held. For now, that was enough.
Green didn't speak again.
Or not.
"Master, why don't you try and bathe using the water in the well. I think this can aid master very much."
I huffed out a quiet breath, "Is that so?" I muttered, rubbing my arm.
The layer of grime there flaked slightly under my fingers. I didn't need Green to tell me I was filthy, but hearing it so earnestly from a floating spirit fragment of myself was oddly endearing.
"Yes!" Green's voice rang confidently. "Master's body is weak. Keeping clean is the first step to healing. The well water can help—clean outside and in."
With no mirror, I could only guess how bad I looked. Still, the thought of cool, clean water touching my skin was enough to make my body ache with longing. I shuffled outside slowly, eyes squinting against the light that streaked through. The hut we lived in had no proper bathroom, but if I could bring the water out here...
"Maybe later, Green." I stood up slowly, my legs still unsteady beneath me.
But I pressed on toward the door. Compared to the rest of the house, the room I had woken up in was surprisingly tidy. The floor, although made out of dirt, was swept neatly and didn't have as many bumps, and the straw mat I'd lain on was neatly arranged, my family had tried their best to give me a little comfort amidst everything.
My stomach growled loudly, twisting and curling with hunger. I paused and pressed a hand against it, as though that could quiet it down. Food could wait. My curiosity, however, was tugging at me stronger than the ache in my belly.
Green's reply was quick.
"She's out back, boiling some wild herbs. It looks like she's trying to make some kind of soup."
I nodded slowly and stepped through the doorway.
For reasons I couldn't yet grasp, the system seemed attuned to my surroundings, its awareness stretching like a silent sentinel over the area. Though, I had a feeling that it was to monitor if there were people looking for me when my body was in the farm.
It seemed like it was about time for me to take my daily medicine again. That bitter concoction, always left cooling by my bedside before being fed to me, had become something of a routine—unwelcome, but necessary. I could almost taste its earthy sharpness just thinking about it.
Somewhere nearby, I imagined my mother moving quietly through the small kitchen space, probably preparing her portion of watery congee to feed me.
The thought alone made me let out a long, tired sigh.
Shuffling outside, I deliberately avoided running into my mother. It wasn't difficult, she was completely absorbed in preparing our meager dinner, her back turned and movements slow but practiced. The scent of boiling rice water and faint hints of salt lingered in the air.
Dinner was still an hour or two away. A bit early, yes, but it made sense. Just enough time to eat while there was still a sliver of sunlight left to stretch across the yard, no need to waste firewood or precious oil for light. Every bit of warmth, every bit of glow had to be stretched like thread on an old loom.
I moved quietly.
Outside everything was vast, too vast for a child with bones too light and skin too thin.
The air tasted faintly of salt, carried inland from the distant sea, and each breath drew a chill deeper into my lungs. It was the kind of cold that clung to the skin, curling under the ragged layers of my patchwork clothing. Winter was approaching, and even though the sun still clung stubbornly to the horizon, the wind had already turned sharp.
It was colder still because of my body—frail and worn, a frame too weak to hold warmth for long. My fingers ached, and my breath came out in soft clouds that disappeared too quickly.
Yet there was something comforting about the open air, even if it nipped at me like a stray dog looking for scraps.
When I turned my head, a looming mountain stood tall in the distance, its dark silhouette cutting into the pale blue sky like the back of a slumbering giant. Its peak was shrouded in mist, the kind that hinted at snow yet to fall.
Closer to home, scattered along the dirt path and nestled among patches of fields, were a handful of houses, worn and tired-looking, much like ours. Their roofs were patched with straw and scraps of cloth, smoke curling lazily from makeshift chimneys as if the houses themselves were sighing through the coming cold.
"Lan'er!" a voice rang out across the wind, breaking the quiet of the approaching dusk. It carried warmth and familiarity, despite the chill in the air. Turning my head, I spotted four figures making their way down the narrow path that led from the woods. They were still a distance away, but I recognized them instantly.
Each of them carried a woven basket strapped to their backs,three smaller forms and one taller, broader one.
The largest, no doubt, was Father, leading the way with steady, firm strides. Behind him, my three brothers followed closely, their short legs moving fast to keep up, each one balancing a basket that looked too big for their small frames.
Their clothes were patched and faded from use, but their faces were lit up with tired smiles. Despite the weight they carried, they looked proud—perhaps they had caught something, or maybe they just felt happy to be back home.