Chapter 22: Firewood, a Barking Dog, and an Unexpected Visitor
Morning arrived gently at the bamboo cottage, the kind of quiet arrival that did not interrupt anything because nothing here ever needed interrupting in the first place.
Soft sunlight filtered through the tall bamboo grove outside the courtyard wall, stretching long, shifting shadows across the stone path in slow patterns that changed just enough to be noticed if someone chose to pay attention, and the sound of the waterfall drifting down the cliff blended naturally with the rustling of leaves, forming a steady background that made even silence feel structured rather than empty.
Near the entrance, the cherry tree released a few pale pink petals that drifted through the air before settling along the edges of the courtyard stones, while the ginkgo tree nearby shimmered faintly, its golden leaves catching the light in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if both trees had agreed to contribute quietly to the morning atmosphere without drawing unnecessary attention.
Khun Ming stepped out from the cottage carrying a wooden ladle and a clay bowl, steam rising gently from its surface as he crossed the courtyard with steady, unhurried steps toward the dye station, where the clay vats rested in their usual positions, silent and patient, as if they had already accepted that today would involve more work.
The faint scent of marigold and tea tannin still lingered from the previous day, not strong enough to dominate the air, but present enough to remind anyone nearby that something had been prepared, something that would continue to unfold whether or not it was being actively watched.
A Huang was already awake.
The golden dog lay near the edge of the courtyard where the sunlight reached first, his body stretched comfortably against the warm stone, and when Khun Ming stepped outside, his ears twitched before he lifted his head with mild curiosity, as if confirming that the morning had officially begun now that its most consistent participant had appeared.
Khun Ming glanced down at him.
"You wake up early every morning," he said casually while setting the bowl on the wooden table beside the vats. "I sometimes wonder whether you actually sleep or if you simply close your eyes briefly and consider that sufficient."
A Huang wagged his tail once.
Khun Ming smiled faintly.
"I suppose that question will remain unanswered."
Not far from the cottage door, Hu Xinyan lay on the shaded stone, her body positioned carefully where the cool surface balanced the warmth of the morning air, her breathing calm, her injuries visibly improved though not entirely gone, and when Khun Ming spoke, she lifted her head slightly, her gaze steady and observant.
Khun Ming walked over and crouched beside her.
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked in the same tone he used for everything else, calm, practical, and without unnecessary concern. "You appear stronger than yesterday, which is encouraging. If this continues, normal movement should return within a few days."
The tigress blinked slowly.
Khun Ming nodded once.
"That is good."
He stood and returned to the dye station, lifting the lid of one of the vats and stirring the contents with the wooden ladle, the surface rippling gently as the liquid shifted, releasing a faint warmth into the air.
A Huang wandered closer, drawn by the movement and scent.
He leaned forward and sniffed carefully.
Khun Ming glanced down.
"No," he said patiently. "This is not food."
The dog tilted his head, as if reconsidering that statement from a philosophical angle.
Khun Ming exhaled softly.
"I understand that it smells interesting, but that does not make it edible."
A Huang sat down beside the vat, which suggested that he accepted the explanation but still reserved the right to question it internally.
Khun Ming replaced the lid and wiped his hands, then paused for a moment, his gaze shifting across the courtyard as he reviewed the state of his work, the kind of quiet assessment that looked simple from the outside but carried a clear awareness of what had been done and what still remained.
Then he frowned slightly.
"Something is missing," he murmured.
He walked toward the wood stack beside the workshop wall.
The pile was smaller than it should have been.
Not dramatically reduced.
But enough to matter.
Khun Ming stood there for a moment, looking at it with the calm focus of someone who had just realized that a background detail had quietly become important, like a side character in a drama who suddenly steps into the center of the scene without warning, except in this case the character was a pile of wood.
"Well," he said slowly, "that explains why the stove required more frequent adjustment yesterday."
He crouched and picked up one of the remaining branches, weighing it briefly in his hand.
"This will not be sufficient," he added. "If I intend to prepare another dye bath, additional firewood will be necessary."
A Huang looked up.
Khun Ming glanced at him.
"You appear interested," he said calmly. "Unfortunately, observation alone does not increase supply."
The dog wagged his tail, which could be interpreted as encouragement rather than assistance.
Khun Ming stood and stretched his shoulders.
"In that case," he said, "we will need to collect more."
He walked back into the cottage and returned a moment later carrying the Seven Jewels Sword, the scabbard resting easily in his hand as if it were nothing more than a tool selected for convenience, which, from his perspective, it was.
Hu Xinyan lifted her head again.
Her gaze followed the sword briefly before shifting back to him, curiosity present but controlled.
Khun Ming noticed.
"Yes," he said, adjusting the position of the blade. "We will be walking into the forest. However, that is not suitable for you today."
Hu Xinyan rose slowly to her feet as he approached the gate, her movements steady but still carrying a trace of caution, her instincts clearly urging her forward even as her body reminded her of its current limitations.
She took a step.
Then another.
Khun Ming raised his hand, palm outward, the gesture calm but firm.
"No," he said gently. "You should remain here and rest. Walking too far would place unnecessary strain on your recovery."
Hu Xinyan paused.
The forest lay beyond the gate, carrying familiar scents, familiar space, familiar instinct.
Her tail moved once.
Then she stopped.
Khun Ming watched her for a moment, then sighed quietly.
"I understand that you feel better," he said. "However, recovery is not something that benefits from impatience."
There was a brief silence.
Then, slowly, Hu Xinyan lowered herself back onto the stone.
Khun Ming nodded.
"That is a sensible decision."
He stepped closer without hesitation and reached out, placing his hand on top of her head, his fingers moving through her fur with the same casual familiarity one might use when greeting a particularly large house cat that had not yet decided whether it enjoyed being treated that way.
Hu Xinyan froze completely.
Khun Ming continued, unaware.
"You are behaving very reasonably," he said while lightly scratching behind her ear. "If you continue like this, you should recover without difficulty."
Her ears twitched once.
Somewhere, in a part of her mind that still retained dignity, a very complicated reaction attempted to form, then paused halfway as if it had realized the situation did not allow for a proper response.
A Huang watched.
He wagged his tail slowly, as if confirming that this was, in fact, normal behavior.
Khun Ming gave her one final pat.
"Stay here and watch the house," he added. "We will return shortly."
A Huang had already moved to the gate, his posture alert, his tail moving with quiet enthusiasm, ready in the way someone might be before a grand adventure, even though the actual plan involved collecting wood.
Khun Ming looked at him.
"You appear eager," he said calmly. "I should clarify that this activity does not typically involve chasing animals."
A Huang's tail moved faster.
Khun Ming shook his head slightly and opened the gate.
The morning light shifted as they stepped out.
And behind them, in the quiet courtyard, a certain recovering tigress remained very still, her expression composed, her posture calm, and her internal thoughts significantly less organized than they had been a few minutes ago.
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The narrow stone trail curved downward from the cliff in a steady line, winding between dense bamboo stalks that leaned slightly inward as if the path itself had been negotiated rather than built, and as Khun Ming stepped onto it with the Seven Jewels Sword resting loosely in his hand, the quiet rhythm of the cottage faded behind him and gave way to the deeper, more layered stillness of the mountain forest.
The morning air carried the scent of damp earth mixed with pine, cool and clean in a way that made breathing feel effortless, while the sound of the waterfall softened gradually with each step downward, no longer the dominant presence but still there, steady and reliable, like something that had no intention of leaving regardless of distance.
A Huang moved ahead along the path with quiet enthusiasm, trotting forward a few steps at a time before pausing to investigate whatever detail had captured his attention, then continuing again as if the entire journey had been designed specifically for his personal enjoyment.
Khun Ming followed at his usual pace, unhurried, balanced, and consistent, adjusting the position of the sword slightly when the terrain shifted beneath his feet.
"You appear to have reclassified this task as an exploration rather than a routine collection of materials," he said calmly.
A Huang's tail moved without slowing.
"That is acceptable," Khun Ming added. "As long as the outcome remains the same."
The path opened gradually as they descended, the bamboo thinning until the forest edge came into view, where taller trees stood with thicker trunks and broader canopies, their shadows stretching across the ground in irregular patterns that shifted with the movement of the leaves above.
They reached the mountain intersection after some time, the three paths crossing quietly without markers or signs, as if the mountain expected travelers to already know where they were going, or to accept that not knowing was part of the journey.
Khun Ming paused briefly.
One path led deeper into the forest where the light dimmed beneath the canopy, another curved toward Yunshan City far to the east, and the third returned upward toward the cottage.
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then turned toward the outer edge.
"We will remain nearby," he said. "There is no need to complicate the task by extending the distance unnecessarily."
A Huang sniffed the ground near the intersection, then followed without hesitation.
The forest welcomed them without resistance.
Tall trees rose on either side, their bark rough and textured, while fallen branches lay scattered across the ground in various states of dryness, some light and ready for use, others still holding moisture from the night.
Khun Ming stepped forward and began selecting suitable pieces, lifting a branch, testing its weight, then setting it aside if it failed to meet his standards.
"Dry wood from older branches burns more efficiently," he said while breaking one into smaller sections with a controlled motion. "Moisture reduces heat output and increases smoke, which is inconvenient during dye preparation."
A Huang moved between the trees, occasionally pawing at the ground or pausing to listen to distant sounds that did not concern Khun Ming enough to interrupt his work.
The sword moved with quiet precision when needed, trimming thicker branches into manageable lengths without effort, the blade passing through wood cleanly, as if it had long ago decided that such tasks were beneath its dignity but acceptable under current circumstances, like a retired general cutting vegetables in a kitchen and refusing to comment on the situation.
"Good balance," Khun Ming murmured while adjusting his grip. "It remains a reliable tool."
He gathered the wood into neat bundles beside a fallen log, stacking them with care so they could be carried easily.
"This should be sufficient for several days," he said after a while. "Although that estimate depends on how much heat is required for the next dye bath."
A Huang's ears lifted suddenly.
The shift was immediate.
His posture changed from relaxed curiosity to focused attention, his body still, his nose lifting slightly as he tested the air again.
Then he barked.
Khun Ming looked up.
"What did you find?"
A Huang barked once more and moved toward a large tree a short distance away, his steps quick but controlled, as if the discovery had crossed the line from interesting to important.
Khun Ming followed without rushing, the bundles of wood left where they were.
"At first glance," he said calmly while approaching, "I do not observe anything unusual."
Then he stopped.
Beneath the tree, partially hidden by shadow, an old man sat leaning against the trunk.
His gray robe hung loosely around him, worn and travel-stained, and his white hair framed a face that carried the unmistakable signs of exhaustion, the kind that did not come from a single difficult moment but from a long series of small ones that eventually accumulated beyond what the body could sustain.
A whisk rested loosely in his hand.
A sword lay beside him.
Khun Ming stepped closer and crouched without hesitation, reaching out to check the man's pulse with steady fingers.
The beat was faint.
Irregular.
Barely present.
"Well," he said quietly, "this explains your reaction."
A Huang sat beside him, silent now, his earlier excitement replaced by stillness that suggested he understood the situation had changed.
Khun Ming observed the man's breathing, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
"This is not an external injury," he murmured. "There are no visible wounds. The condition appears to be severe exhaustion, possibly combined with dehydration."
He exhaled softly.
"Remaining here would not improve the situation."
There was no hesitation after that.
He slid one arm beneath the man's shoulders and lifted him carefully, adjusting the weight across his back in a smooth motion that suggested he had done something similar before, although the previous instance had involved a significantly larger and less cooperative patient.
The old man was light.
Surprisingly so.
Khun Ming shifted slightly to balance the load.
"You are much easier to carry than the tiger was," he said thoughtfully.
A Huang's tail moved once, as if acknowledging the comparison.
"Yes," Khun Ming added while reaching down to pick up the fallen sword, "I am aware that this situation has become somewhat unusual, but it remains manageable."
The blade was secured.
The man rested steadily against his shoulder.
Khun Ming turned toward the path leading back up the mountain.
"We will return to the cottage," he said. "Food, water, and rest should address the immediate problem."
A Huang moved ahead again, though this time his pace was steadier, less playful, as if he had adjusted his understanding of the journey to match its new purpose.
The forest remained quiet as they walked.
The same trees.
The same wind.
The same shifting light.
And yet the atmosphere had changed slightly, not in a dramatic way, but enough that the path felt different, like a familiar scene that had gained a new character without altering anything else.
Above them, the bamboo cottage waited on the cliff, unchanged, patient, and entirely unprepared for the fact that its list of temporary residents was about to expand once again, which, at this point, was beginning to resemble a pattern that Khun Ming had not yet noticed but would eventually have to acknowledge.
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Chapter 22 Complete.