Chapter 1: No rice in the porridge, frost in one's destiny.
The winter in Wen Family Village was longer than usual. Wen Buhuo stood in front of the drafty earthen bed, clutching a chipped earthenware bowl. The bowl contained only a few grains of yellowed millet, swirling in the murky water. This was the family's last day's food.
Behind him, a small, thin figure was curled up in a pile of straw. That was his younger sister, Wen Xiaoya. She was not yet ten years old, and due to long-term malnutrition, her hair was dry and yellow like withered autumn grass, but her eyes were so clear that it was heartbreaking.
"Brother, I'm not hungry," Xiaoya whispered, but her stomach grumbled loudly.
Wen Buhuo didn't speak. His cold face showed little emotion, only the knuckles of the hand holding the bowl were white from the force of his grip.
Wen Buhuo's father died in a mining accident that was not unexpected, and his mother, after that, fell ill with grief and passed away early. All that was left for Wen Buhuo was this leaky house and a younger sister who needed to be fed.
He had tried working as a laborer in the town, and he had tried gathering herbs in the mountains, but in a world where the lower class was rigidly stratified, the efforts of ordinary people often only resulted in barely surviving.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror—that face, though still bearing the youthful innocence of a teenager, already bore the maturity that belied his age. He knew that if things continued like this, this winter would be his sister's death.
A yellowed piece of paper was posted on the large locust tree at the entrance of the village. It was a recruitment notice from a small organization nearby called the "Mysterious Iron Gang," recruiting apprentices and laborers.
Joining the Mysterious Iron Gang meant two meals a day and three taels of silver sent home every year. But the price was: signing a life-or-death contract and not being able to return home for five years. Such organizations often treated apprentices as the cheapest expendable resources, using them to explore mine shafts, test poisons, or act as human shields for the powerful.
The winter wind in Wen Family Village was biting cold, like a knife cutting across Wen Buhuo's thin face. Wen Buhuo stood in front of the drafty earthen bed, watching his younger sister, Xiaoya, finish the last half-bowl of thin porridge. He didn't go inside, but stood by the doorway, bowing deeply to Aunt Lin, their neighbor who had come at the sound of his voice.
"Aunt Lin, I'm going to the 'Mysterious Iron Gang' a hundred miles away to be an apprentice. This old fox fur is the most valuable thing my father left behind; please accept it." Wen Buhuo's voice was hoarse with the characteristic rasp of a boy going through puberty, yet unusually steady. "Buhuo, that Mysterious Iron Gang is a dangerous place..." Aunt Lin sighed, her eyes reddening as she finally accepted the fur. "Don't worry, as long as Aunt Lin has a bite to eat, Xiaoya won't go hungry."
Before leaving, Wen Buhuo squatted down and took his sister's thin little hand. He pulled out a thin red string from his chest pocket, which he had traded a bundle of firewood for at the market. He tied the red string around Xiaoya's wrist, a rare tenderness in his eyes: "Xiaoya, listen to Aunt Lin. As long as the red string doesn't break, I will definitely come back."
Xiaoya, understanding, didn't cry, but clung tightly to his clothes until Wen Buhuo reluctantly pried her fingers away, then walked away without looking back, disappearing into the swirling frost and mist.
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