NOVEL WEB Chapter 151: Beneath the Moon
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(Note: Added some details of dinner.)
The meal at Aunty Zhou's table ended long after the clock over her stove struck nine. By then the soup bowls were empty, the mantou basket lay on its side like a toppled tower, and even the tiny crumbs had been swept up by Auri's diligent beak.
The Emberling phoenix‑sparrow now sat on the rim of the teapot, eyes half‑closed, chest feathers glowing a restful ember‑orange.
Kent leaned back, fingers cradling a warm porcelain cup. The oolong inside had cooled, leaving a faint skin on top, yet he still breathed in the spent fragrance as if it were the final comfort he needed to swallow.
On the far side of the table Nima licked sweet soy sauce from her thumb, cheeks plump and eyes soft with sleepy satisfaction. Xian Yu finished the last spoonful of broth in slow deliberate sips, each sip followed by the faint clink of his spoon against the patterned bowl.
Conversation had dwindled to gentle murmurs—little stories about the neighborhood cat that perched on Aunty Zhou's roof tiles, or the new noodle stall that opened near the tram stop. They were the kind of harmless topics that belonged to safe evenings, topics that told the heart it had left danger behind.
Kent let them wash over him like mild rain. For a brief, fragile stretch of minutes he could almost forget the smoking wreckage that used to be his prize vegetable rows.
Almost.
When the wall clock chimed a tenth time, Aunty Zhou clapped her palms. "Enough sitting, children. You all have faces like wilted cabbage. Go rest; the night is kind and the moon is bright." She pressed two parcels into Kent's hands, steamed buns tied in waxed paper and a small jar of fermented tofu. "Mid‑night hunger always sneaks in," she whispered, and Kent felt a sharp tug of gratitude as he accepted the gifts.
They stepped outside into the hush of late evening. City lamplight spilled down the lane in silver ladders; somewhere a maglev tram hummed across elevated tracks, its windows gleaming green like capsules of captured stars.
Kent, Nima, Auri, and Xian Yu walked wordlessly to the low wooden gate that separated Aunty Zhou's bright yard from the dark mess beyond. When Nima unlatched it, the hinges gave a forlorn creak as if protesting the scene on the other side.
The field looked worse by night. Cold moonlight could not hide the scorched furrows or the broken irrigation pipes that jutted from soil like snapped bones. Patches of smoldering compost still glowed dull red in corners where lightning had kissed the ground. The breeze carried a bitter scent: half smoke, half burnt sugar—what remained of roasted carrot tops.
Kent's heart clenched again, yet a small thread of calm held him steady. Maybe it was the tea, or maybe it was the promise he had wrung from his master, but the earlier storm of anger had settled into a heavy, workable ache. He could act on aches; storms only blinded him.
They paused by the narrow porch step. Xian Yu turned first, facing Kent beneath the gutter's quiet drip.
"I will begin the repairs at dawn," he said. His voice had taken on a firmer texture since his breakthrough—soft yet resonant, like a drum stroked by gentle hands. "I shall till fresh channels, sow fast‑germinating seed, and mix the Thunder‑Wood Essence in five parts spring water to one part ground charcoal. By the next full moon new shoots will show."
Behind the old man's dignity Kent heard genuine eagerness, almost childlike, to fix what his lightning had destroyed. It chipped away a little more of the resentment clinging to Kent's ribs.
"I know you will," Kent answered, lifting the small jade vial to catch the moonlight. Tiny arcs of violet flashed inside the liquid, miniscule echoes of the tribulation that had forged it.
Xian Yu said, "And thank you—for those fruits you gave me."
Nima yawned into her sleeve, then jabbed a finger at the charred field. "Big Brother, we should help tomorrow too. Captain Nima can shovel ash at super speed." Auri bobbed his head, opening his beak in a silent squawk that clearly meant And I can toast seeds. Kent smiled at the image of miniature phoenix flames sprouting like candles across tilled rows.
"We'll help," he said. "But first let's sleep." He nudged Nima toward the house. She obeyed, though not before glancing over her shoulder at the devastation one last time. The sleeve of her bomber jacket brushed Kent's hand; he squeezed it gently, promising silently that the field would rise again. It will be better than before.
Inside the foyer they removed their shoes. The house carried the faint scent of cedar from the floor wash Nima had splashed over the planks before their vaccination. Kent set Aunty Zhou's parcels on the kitchen counter. The refrigerator hummed with a comforting buzz. Somewhere under the boards of pipes clicked as water cooled.
Nima trudged to her room muttering about morning chores and silver muse polish. Auri fluttered after her, little claws tapping the corridor planks like hurried raindrops. Kent watched his sister's door close, lamp light dimming behind it. A soft sigh slipped from his chest; he pressed a hand against the wall as if steadying himself against invisible push.
Xian Yu shuffled on his yard, on small sitting area, took the teapot lid and sniffed the faint remains of evening jasmine. "Tomorrow is heavy," he said, setting the lid back with a soft clink. "Heavy but bright." Then he bowed once more, deeper than before. He murdered by himself, "Disciple… my thanks again."
Kent stood alone in the quiet kitchen. The clock over the sink ticked in thin, deliberate nicks. Guilt and relief and cautious hope braided together inside him.
He opened the refrigerator just to feel the cool air, retrieved one of the steamed buns Aunty Zhou had packed, and nibbled it while leaning against the counter. The bun's dough was soft, the pork filling sweet with hoisin. Each bite whispered home.
When the bun was gone, he washed his hands, clicked off the light, and headed to his own room. The blueprint scroll lay on the corner desk—Silver Muse rendered in charcoal strokes.
He brushed his fingers across the paper in affection, then slid it into a drawer. Tomorrow he would photocopy it for safekeeping; tonight he needed rest. He plans to build a bigger boat for Nima for her birthday next year.
He undressed, changed into normal clothes, and let the darkness close over him like cool river water. Even through the walls he could feel the scorched field slumbering outside, waiting. He pictured rows of new seedlings lit by dawn and saw Nima laughing as Auri chased worms from the irrigation furrows. He mouthed a quiet vow: "By harvest season this land will sing again."
Sleep swept him away.
The alarm buzzed at the first pink light. Kent sat up, shook the fog from his mind, and dressed in work clothes: old cotton pants, a faded T‑shirt, and rubber boots. When he stepped into the corridor the smell of congee wafted from the kitchen.
Nima stood at the stove, hair tied in a mess of braids, stirring rice porridge with one hand while chewing on a sesame stick. Auri hovered above the pot, fanning flames with gentle wing beats. The little phoenix‑sparrow treated open fire like a personal playground.
"Morning," she said around the stick. "I added sweet potato chunks in rice porridge because carbs equal power."
Kent chuckled. "Exactly what we need."
Xian Yu arrived with impeccable timing, robe sleeves rolled past his elbows. He carried two shovels and a hand rake. "Congee first," he announced. "Today, We work like there's no tomorrow."
They ate quickly: warm porridge, pickled cucumber slices, and the fermented tofu Aunty Zhou had gifted. The tofu's strong aroma made Nima wrinkle her nose until Kent mixed it into her bowl with soy and a dab of chili oil. She took a cautious bite, eyes widening at the rich flavor, then spooned more with enthusiasm.
With bowls rinsed and stacked, the trio stepped outside. Dawn painted the world in gentle gold; even the smoldered earth glimmered faintly, as if deciding whether to stay gray or bloom green again.
Xian Yu pressed his palms together, whispering a short incantation. The Thunder‑Wood Essence in Kent's pocket vibrated with subtle heat. The old man pointed to a cleared patch near the center of the field. "That will be our first test bed."
They paced the perimeter, Kent and Nima shoveling loose ash aside while Auri swooped overhead, his wing flames incinerating stubborn clumps of charred vine. Whenever embers reignited Kent doused them with a hose line from the rain barrel.
When the patch measured ten strides by fifteen, Xian Yu knelt at its heart and uncorked the jade vial. Amber liquid rolled out in slow silver threads, seeping into thirsty soil. The moment it touched dirt, the air brightened with a faint electrical buzz. Tiny sparks flicked from one blackened root remnant to another. Kent felt the hair on his arms prickle.