That day, the sun set and never rose again...

…

In the eternal night, the world was shrouded in darkness, as if an unfathomable abyss was about to devour everything.

Daylight had long since become a thing of the past, a legend of another time.

The vast frozen land was bitterly cold, with howling winds and snow falling in thick, heavy sheets, piling up to half the height of a person.

Shuangshu Village was half-buried in snow.

There were only about fifty households here, as if the village had been forgotten by time. In the darkness of the night, the outlines of the houses were barely visible.

Amid the wailing winds, many of the roofs were shaking slightly, as though they might be torn off at any moment.

Qin Ming felt weak. He had woken up from hunger, his stomach growling uncontrollably. In the cold night, he couldn’t help but think of any kind of food, swallowing his saliva at the thought.
Not to mention hot, steaming meat, or fresh, delicious fruit—even just thinking of a cold, hard bun made his mouth water.

The cold was unbearable, both inside and outside the house. The darkness felt suffocating.

Qin Ming wrapped himself tightly in an old quilt. Even the warmth of the heated brick bed couldn’t keep out the biting cold. The cold air, when inhaled, felt like shards of ice scraping against his lungs, causing a slight sting.

He tried to control himself, not thinking about food, otherwise his stomach would start to churn, and acid would rise in his throat.

As he calmed himself down, he suddenly realized that his mind was very clear now, no longer foggy as it had been in the past. Could it be that the “strange illness” was finally leaving?

Although he was starving and freezing, after a long battle with illness, the turning point seemed to have arrived. His eyes sparkled with hope, waiting for the “shallow night” to come.

As time passed, the wind gradually died down, and the heavy snow that had been swirling around slowly turned into light, scattered snowflakes.

There was movement from the neighboring yard, followed by the sound of a conversation. It was a young couple—Lu Ze and Liang Wanqing.

“Where are you going? To deliver food to Qin Ming again?” Liang Wanqing’s voice was rising.

“He’s been seriously ill. He’s only about sixteen or seventeen, living all alone. It’s so pitiful.” Lu Ze spoke softly.

“Do you know that there’s hardly any food left at home? If this keeps up, the two children will go hungry!” Liang Wanqing was agitated.

“The blizzard has stopped, we’ll find a way to manage,” Lu Ze said, looking out at the pitch-black world.
…

Qin Ming overheard the couple’s argument, feeling guilty. He didn’t want to accept Lu Ze’s kindness anymore. Everyone in these times was struggling.

He had already gotten out of the heated bed and, after putting on a cotton coat, still felt cold. He found an old animal skin coat in the cupboard and wrapped it around himself, pacing and rubbing his hands in the pitch-black room.

After a severe illness, his tall frame had become a little too thin. His black hair, which once hung over his shoulders, had lost some of its sheen. His fair face looked slightly pale, but his clear eyes still shone brightly, full of spirit. Though he had the pale complexion of someone who had been ill, there was a firmness in his demeanor.

A month ago, he had managed to escape from the mountains, though his hands and feet had been turning black. He had been seriously ill ever since.

As for the companions who had traveled with him, they had died on the same day they returned.
Qin Ming had been suffering from a “strange illness,” and many people thought he wouldn’t survive.

Yet, he had made it through to this point, and it was obvious that he was improving.

Thinking about the unknown dangers in the mountains still made him feel uneasy.

The darkness outside began to change, as though ink had dropped into a small amount of water and gradually faded. The “shallow night” had arrived, which meant “daytime” had come.

Obviously, it was still only marginally better than “deep night.” The world was still shrouded in darkness, and anything too far away remained unclear.

The courtyard door was pushed open, and Lu Ze entered. He was strong and sturdy, using a shovel to clear the snow, quickly creating a path to the house.

Qin Ming opened the door, which had been blocked by the snow, and called out, “Brother Lu.”

Lu Ze held a glowing cloth bag and poured its contents—bright red stones—into a stone basin in the snow. The stones clinked and glowed, breaking the darkness.

These were “sun stones,” their very name symbolizing people’s hopes in these times. The glow illuminated the courtyard.

Lu Ze was surprised. “Qin Ming, you seem to be in much better spirits.”

Qin Ming invited him inside and explained that he was no longer foggy-headed and suspected that he was indeed recovering.

Lu Ze called him tough, saying it was miraculous that he had survived the “strange illness” from the mountains. He poured the remaining glowing stones from the cloth bag into a copper basin inside the room, filling the space with a warm, bright light.

Sunstones were taken from the “fire spring,” and although they glowed brightly, they didn’t emit heat as strong as a human body’s temperature. After a few hours, they would naturally go out and had to be returned to the “fire spring” to be recharged.

“Here!” Lu Ze handed over a food box.

Qin Ming had run out of food days ago, relying on Lu Ze’s help. When he heard the couple argue, he knew their situation wasn’t much better, and he felt guilty.

“Eat it while it’s hot.” Lu Ze was a straightforward man, someone who repaid kindness. He had once been lost in a dark forest, and it was Qin Ming who had called his name repeatedly, guiding him back.

Seeing the steaming black buns, Qin Ming couldn’t help but swallow in anticipation.

“Why are you standing there? You’re still recovering, you can’t heal if you’re hungry. Don’t stand on ceremony.” Lu Ze placed the food box in his hands.

“Lu Ge!” Finally, Qin Ming didn’t hold back. He tore off a piece of the rough bun, devouring it quickly, and it tasted sweet in his mouth.

“Call me if you need anything,” Lu Ze said, turning to leave.

As the hunger faded, Qin Ming felt even more energetic. The discomforts of his body seemed to be vanishing. He was certain the illness was leaving him.

He decided to go outside for some fresh air and take a walk. He pushed open the courtyard door and stepped onto the street. The weather was unusually cold, and his breath turned into a cloud of white vapor.

Shallow night—the “daytime” of this era—was marked by the flow of sunstones in every home, giving the streets a faint glow.

“Qin Ming, you’re feeling better?” someone noticed him.

“Little Qin, let me take a look,” said Old Lady Zhou from the north street, grabbing him and inspecting his face. She noticed that he looked much healthier than the last time they had met.

Qin Ming smiled and greeted them, telling them that he was indeed recovering.

There weren’t many people on the street, but they all looked at him in disbelief—could someone with the “strange illness” really recover?

“Little Qin, even if you’re feeling better, don’t rush outside. It’s dangerous out there.” Old Lady Zhou cautioned, looking toward the black, ink-like sky beyond the village.

Other neighbors also showed concern. The year was bad, and food was scarce. If things continued this way, people might starve.

Qin Ming noticed that the once kind and gentle Old Lady Zhou now looked pale and thin, as if the wind could blow her over.

After the others left, Old Lady Zhou carefully took a few pieces of dried root vegetables from her pocket and pressed them into Qin Ming’s hand.

Qin Ming quickly tried to push them back. The old woman was already so thin and hungry herself—how could he accept food meant for her survival?

Each household had cleared the snow around their homes, but not thoroughly. There was still snow, and the sound of footsteps crunching on it was audible. Qin Ming breathed out white mist and continued walking.

As he neared the village entrance, he stopped.

In front of a larger courtyard was a small threshing ground. A black mountain goat, about the size of an adult, was pulling a stone millstone to grind some variant wheat, which looked like silver particles.

Not everyone was starving—clearly, the family at the village entrance was doing better.

Qin Ming stared at the black mountain goat, his gaze intense. With food now such a concern, it had been a long time since he had eaten meat, and the craving was unbearable.

The black mountain goat, tall and strong with thick horns, seemed startled by his gaze. Its tail, which had been held high, drooped immediately.

“Little Qin, you’re better now? You must have some good fortune after surviving a great disaster,” a sturdy, bearded man in his forties said as he stood at the gate. He assumed Qin Ming was looking at the silver wheat being ground beneath the millstone and added, “Our family has a lot of mouths to feed, and our supplies are running low. This is all the food we have left.”

“Uncle Yang, you’re impressive. You’re still able to take care of a whole family in such tough times.” Qin Ming smiled, not believing that they only had a bag of silver wheat left.

After greeting Yang Yongqing, Qin Ming continued toward the village head.

Ahead was the “Fire Spring,” casting a bright light around it.

The spring was surrounded by stones, forming a square pool about six feet across. The stone walls only reached knee height, and inside was a blaze of red light.

Though the Fire Spring was nearly depleted and no longer gushed out as it once did, its fiery glow still swirled in the air.

There were two trees growing in the pool, one with dark leaves and the other with white leaves.

These trees never withered, even in the coldest winter, and they were the reason for the village’s name—Shuangshu Village.

That day, the sun set and never rose again...

…

In the eternal night, the world was shrouded in darkness, as if an unfathomable abyss was about to devour everything.

Daylight had long since become a thing of the past, a legend of another time.

The vast frozen land was bitterly cold, with howling winds and snow falling in thick, heavy sheets, piling up to half the height of a person.

Shuangshu Village was half-buried in snow.

There were only about fifty households here, as if the village had been forgotten by time. In the darkness of the night, the outlines of the houses were barely visible.

Amid the wailing winds, many of the roofs were shaking slightly, as though they might be torn off at any moment.

Qin Ming felt weak. He had woken up from hunger, his stomach growling uncontrollably. In the cold night, he couldn’t help but think of any kind of food, swallowing his saliva at the thought.
Not to mention hot, steaming meat, or fresh, delicious fruit—even just thinking of a cold, hard bun made his mouth water.

The cold was unbearable, both inside and outside the house. The darkness felt suffocating.

Qin Ming wrapped himself tightly in an old quilt. Even the warmth of the heated brick bed couldn’t keep out the biting cold. The cold air, when inhaled, felt like shards of ice scraping against his lungs, causing a slight sting.

He tried to control himself, not thinking about food, otherwise his stomach would start to churn, and acid would rise in his throat.

As he calmed himself down, he suddenly realized that his mind was very clear now, no longer foggy as it had been in the past. Could it be that the “strange illness” was finally leaving?

Although he was starving and freezing, after a long battle with illness, the turning point seemed to have arrived. His eyes sparkled with hope, waiting for the “shallow night” to come.

As time passed, the wind gradually died down, and the heavy snow that had been swirling around slowly turned into light, scattered snowflakes.

There was movement from the neighboring yard, followed by the sound of a conversation. It was a young couple—Lu Ze and Liang Wanqing.

“Where are you going? To deliver food to Qin Ming again?” Liang Wanqing’s voice was rising.

“He’s been seriously ill. He’s only about sixteen or seventeen, living all alone. It’s so pitiful.” Lu Ze spoke softly.

“Do you know that there’s hardly any food left at home? If this keeps up, the two children will go hungry!” Liang Wanqing was agitated.

“The blizzard has stopped, we’ll find a way to manage,” Lu Ze said, looking out at the pitch-black world.
…

Qin Ming overheard the couple’s argument, feeling guilty. He didn’t want to accept Lu Ze’s kindness anymore. Everyone in these times was struggling.

He had already gotten out of the heated bed and, after putting on a cotton coat, still felt cold. He found an old animal skin coat in the cupboard and wrapped it around himself, pacing and rubbing his hands in the pitch-black room.

After a severe illness, his tall frame had become a little too thin. His black hair, which once hung over his shoulders, had lost some of its sheen. His fair face looked slightly pale, but his clear eyes still shone brightly, full of spirit. Though he had the pale complexion of someone who had been ill, there was a firmness in his demeanor.

A month ago, he had managed to escape from the mountains, though his hands and feet had been turning black. He had been seriously ill ever since.

As for the companions who had traveled with him, they had died on the same day they returned.
Qin Ming had been suffering from a “strange illness,” and many people thought he wouldn’t survive.

Yet, he had made it through to this point, and it was obvious that he was improving.

Thinking about the unknown dangers in the mountains still made him feel uneasy.

The darkness outside began to change, as though ink had dropped into a small amount of water and gradually faded. The “shallow night” had arrived, which meant “daytime” had come.

Obviously, it was still only marginally better than “deep night.” The world was still shrouded in darkness, and anything too far away remained unclear.

The courtyard door was pushed open, and Lu Ze entered. He was strong and sturdy, using a shovel to clear the snow, quickly creating a path to the house.

Qin Ming opened the door, which had been blocked by the snow, and called out, “Brother Lu.”

Lu Ze held a glowing cloth bag and poured its contents—bright red stones—into a stone basin in the snow. The stones clinked and glowed, breaking the darkness.

These were “sun stones,” their very name symbolizing people’s hopes in these times. The glow illuminated the courtyard.

Lu Ze was surprised. “Qin Ming, you seem to be in much better spirits.”

Qin Ming invited him inside and explained that he was no longer foggy-headed and suspected that he was indeed recovering.

Lu Ze called him tough, saying it was miraculous that he had survived the “strange illness” from the mountains. He poured the remaining glowing stones from the cloth bag into a copper basin inside the room, filling the space with a warm, bright light.

Sunstones were taken from the “fire spring,” and although they glowed brightly, they didn’t emit heat as strong as a human body’s temperature. After a few hours, they would naturally go out and had to be returned to the “fire spring” to be recharged.

“Here!” Lu Ze handed over a food box.

Qin Ming had run out of food days ago, relying on Lu Ze’s help. When he heard the couple argue, he knew their situation wasn’t much better, and he felt guilty.

“Eat it while it’s hot.” Lu Ze was a straightforward man, someone who repaid kindness. He had once been lost in a dark forest, and it was Qin Ming who had called his name repeatedly, guiding him back.

Seeing the steaming black buns, Qin Ming couldn’t help but swallow in anticipation.

“Why are you standing there? You’re still recovering, you can’t heal if you’re hungry. Don’t stand on ceremony.” Lu Ze placed the food box in his hands.

“Lu Ge!” Finally, Qin Ming didn’t hold back. He tore off a piece of the rough bun, devouring it quickly, and it tasted sweet in his mouth.

“Call me if you need anything,” Lu Ze said, turning to leave.

As the hunger faded, Qin Ming felt even more energetic. The discomforts of his body seemed to be vanishing. He was certain the illness was leaving him.

He decided to go outside for some fresh air and take a walk. He pushed open the courtyard door and stepped onto the street. The weather was unusually cold, and his breath turned into a cloud of white vapor.

Shallow night—the “daytime” of this era—was marked by the flow of sunstones in every home, giving the streets a faint glow.

“Qin Ming, you’re feeling better?” someone noticed him.

“Little Qin, let me take a look,” said Old Lady Zhou from the north street, grabbing him and inspecting his face. She noticed that he looked much healthier than the last time they had met.

Qin Ming smiled and greeted them, telling them that he was indeed recovering.

There weren’t many people on the street, but they all looked at him in disbelief—could someone with the “strange illness” really recover?

“Little Qin, even if you’re feeling better, don’t rush outside. It’s dangerous out there.” Old Lady Zhou cautioned, looking toward the black, ink-like sky beyond the village.

Other neighbors also showed concern. The year was bad, and food was scarce. If things continued this way, people might starve.

Qin Ming noticed that the once kind and gentle Old Lady Zhou now looked pale and thin, as if the wind could blow her over.

After the others left, Old Lady Zhou carefully took a few pieces of dried root vegetables from her pocket and pressed them into Qin Ming’s hand.

Qin Ming quickly tried to push them back. The old woman was already so thin and hungry herself—how could he accept food meant for her survival?

Each household had cleared the snow around their homes, but not thoroughly. There was still snow, and the sound of footsteps crunching on it was audible. Qin Ming breathed out white mist and continued walking.

As he neared the village entrance, he stopped.

In front of a larger courtyard was a small threshing ground. A black mountain goat, about the size of an adult, was pulling a stone millstone to grind some variant wheat, which looked like silver particles.

Not everyone was starving—clearly, the family at the village entrance was doing better.

Qin Ming stared at the black mountain goat, his gaze intense. With food now such a concern, it had been a long time since he had eaten meat, and the craving was unbearable.

The black mountain goat, tall and strong with thick horns, seemed startled by his gaze. Its tail, which had been held high, drooped immediately.

“Little Qin, you’re better now? You must have some good fortune after surviving a great disaster,” a sturdy, bearded man in his forties said as he stood at the gate. He assumed Qin Ming was looking at the silver wheat being ground beneath the millstone and added, “Our family has a lot of mouths to feed, and our supplies are running low. This is all the food we have left.”

“Uncle Yang, you’re impressive. You’re still able to take care of a whole family in such tough times.” Qin Ming smiled, not believing that they only had a bag of silver wheat left.

After greeting Yang Yongqing, Qin Ming continued toward the village head.

Ahead was the “Fire Spring,” casting a bright light around it.

The spring was surrounded by stones, forming a square pool about six feet across. The stone walls only reached knee height, and inside was a blaze of red light.

Though the Fire Spring was nearly depleted and no longer gushed out as it once did, its fiery glow still swirled in the air.

There were two trees growing in the pool, one with dark leaves and the other with white leaves.

These trees never withered, even in the coldest winter, and they were the reason for the village’s name—Shuangshu Village.