The old carpenter and Bartholomew passed through Paradise Village, where the former village chief gave them his house and insisted on sending the village chief to the old carpenter. That night, they happily hitched a ride on a horse-drawn cart and returned to a safe place inland with his family. To their surprise, the old carpenter quickly received a formal appointment from the general, who was the type of person who never consulted you, only issued orders. Bartholomew was assigned as the head of the infirmary camp.
Bartholomew couldn't stay idle. The more he looked at the little village, the more he liked it. Soon, he started visiting every household, chatting and getting to know the villagers. Before long, he had a good understanding of the village's situation. Most of the villagers were disabled soldiers and their families, along with some refugees who had nowhere else to go, forming a village over time.
Now, with more refugees arriving, the once remote little town was growing, and the raids by horse bandits, robbers, and barbarian tribes had become more frequent.
The village had built an outer settlement, with tall walls, and the villagers had taken up swords and knives. The infirmary and the village chief, like two sharp horns of a bull, operated under the management of two good friends. This"bull's horn" soon became as flexible and effective as a unified entity.
The villagers warmly welcomed Mo Wen and Littel Hong, greeting them as they approached. Some children, uninhibited, came up and touched them playfully, laughing and running off. The old village chief scolded the children for being too mischievous but his eyes revealed deep affection for them. The children knew he meant well, so they weren't afraid, instead following him eagerly.
Littel Hong turned around and made a funny face, causing the children to burst into laughter. This carefree young man brought joy to every corner of the village, and the sound of children's laughter echoed through the inner village, making an ordinary day feel especially warm and cheerful. In this new place, Mo Wen and Littel Hong no longer felt like strangers; it was as if they had returned home.
The two of them stayed in the old village chief's house, a small but cozy wooden cabin. The quiet of the night was filled with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. In the middle of the night, the two of them were awakened by growling stomachs and hungry thoughts. The room was dimly lit by a flickering candle, casting light on a corner. The old village chief sat on a low stool, busy with his hands, preparing a pot of noodle soup. His skill was evident as he expertly placed firewood in the stove, the warmth of the fire filling the night with a comforting, familiar atmosphere.
Noodles were a local specialty, made from the roots of a plant that grew in the mountains. The old village chief crushed the roots, then filtered the dough through a cloth he had made, drying the dough in the sun. The result was a small bag of snow-white flour that exuded a faint, plant-like fragrance. The old village chief pressed the flour into thin cakes and cut them into long strips with a knife. In a pot of boiling water, the noodles cooked quickly, releasing a delicious aroma.
The hot, delicious noodle soup might not compare to the cuisine of big cities, but to the two young men who had been hungry for a long time, this simple meal was more than enough. They picked up their bowls and ate with gusto, the warmth of the soup filling their stomachs and gradually warming their hearts.
They settled in slowly, with the old village chief being constantly invited to feasts by the villagers. He was never idle, but Mo Wen had immersed himself in the old village chief's carpentry workshop. He transformed the messy, rundown workshop into a proper workspace. One time, the old village chief even found it hard to work inside and had to prepare wood in the yard, sighing as he returned to work in the workshop. But watching Mo Wen slowly introduce hydraulics into the workshop, making the tools more automated, the old carpenter couldn't help but nod in admiration, even turning down invitations to feasts and spending more time in the workshop.
On a warm afternoon, Mo Wen found a large haystack, climbed to the top, stretched out his body, and lay down. He faced the towering mountains, the warm afternoon breeze blowing gently, making him feel drowsy. Gradually, Mo Wen fell into a trance, as if entering a mysterious dream.
He saw petals fluttering in the sky like snowflakes. These petals didn't fall but danced gracefully in the air, beautiful and mysterious. Then, the petals transformed into flower umbrellas, each radiating a captivating light. The flower umbrellas turned into brilliant, colorful Han dynasty costumes, with intricate brocade and embroidery, majestic and exquisite.
Mo Wen clearly saw several immortals, their robes billowing, their feet hovering above the ground, as if they had come from a celestial realm, floating toward the peak of the mountain.
Mo Wen suddenly woke up, and everything disappeared, but the images in his memory were still vivid, down to the smallest detail. He quickly jumped off the haystack and asked the old village chief about the mountain's secret. The old village chief squinted, focused on pressing a bamboo strip into a board with a hydraulic press, and muttered,"What's the rush? After a while, you young folks will all go up there to train with the immortals."
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During this time, Littel Hong's fascination with the field hospital bordered on obsession, eclipsing any interest he once had in the goings-on of the village. The camp was situated two miles outside the village on a sunny hillside, like a solitary horn perched at the edge of the land, gazing out across the fields toward the small village, as if the two were bound by some unspoken connection. The camp itself operated with a loose, almost laissez-faire sense of order—especially for the lightly wounded soldiers who treated it more like a bustling outdoor marketplace than a place of recovery.
Every afternoon, the camp came alive with activity, as if the soldiers' laughter and banter were a spark fanned by the breeze into a roaring blaze. They gathered to spar and compete, their spirited matches filling the air with an endless medley of guffaws, cheers, boasts, and the occasional heated exchange. The raucous energy spilled over the hill like waves, infusing the slopes with a contagious vitality.
It didn't take long for this lively scene to become the village's favorite spectacle. As soon as their farm work was done, the villagers would flock to the camp, eager for a dose of excitement. At first, it was mostly the men who came, forming circles around the matches, wagering on who would emerge victorious. But as the betting became more elaborate and competitive, the women began to join in, and soon the atmosphere shifted into something even more captivating.
The women's arrival set the camp ablaze with a new kind of fervor. They quickly organized themselves into factions—"fan clubs," so to speak. The most popular by far was the one devoted to a dashing young soldier, whose good looks far outshone his fighting skills. Though he lost more matches than he won, his charm drew throngs of admirers. Whenever he stepped into the ring, the crowd would swell to overflowing, erupting in cheers and squeals of delight. The women, while less invested in the fighting itself, were utterly absorbed by his every move. Gossip about him spread like wildfire: today he had accepted a gift of wild peaches from Widow Li; last night he had gone to bathe alone in the river under the moonlight, his pale skin gleaming like polished ivory. These tales were exchanged with the fervor of prized secrets, and the fan clubs sometimes clashed over their idol's honor—group squabbles that rivaled the matches themselves.
In stark contrast, the camp's two most skilled fighters, Big Meng and Kael Meng, found themselves languishing in obscurity. Their prowess was undeniable, but their rough, unrefined looks made them less appealing to the crowd."Ugly men have no audience," as the saying went. On a bright and cloudless afternoon, the two faced off in a wrestling match on a dusty patch of ground encircled by a hastily drawn nine-meter ring. Though their duel was a display of raw power and precision, drawing gasps from the few who watched, the turnout was noticeably sparse. Beauty, it seemed, trumped skill every time.
The two wrestlers stood at the center of the makeshift arena, their gazes locking like blades, sharp and unyielding. They moved in deliberate circles, their heavy footsteps resonating like the calculated pacing of two beasts sizing each other up, searching for the perfect opening. Big Meng, the towering giant of the camp, was an imposing sight. His hulking frame was a fortress of muscle, his ebony skin gleaming like polished stone under the midday sun. Thick tufts of chest hair swayed slightly in the breeze, rising and falling with each deep breath, his chest expanding like a mountain range shifting beneath the earth. It was said, half in jest and half in awe, that Big Meng was a descendant of the ancient giants. The rumor had taken root so firmly that even the village children would sneak glances at him, whispering in hushed tones, wondering if his strength might truly be enough to move a mountain.
The opponent, a small military officer, was quite a different sight. His name was also Meng, but everyone called him Kael Meng because of his quick, cat-like agility and sly eyes. He was small but incredibly fit, with bright, sharp eyes that seemed to always be calculating something. When he heard the"giant descendant" rumor, he smirked coldly, thinking to himself,"Bullshit! What giant descendant? He's just my brother from the village who eats a lot and grows fast. What's the use of strength? When facing officials, he wouldn't even dare to fart. If it weren't for my second uncle begging me to bring him into the army, I wouldn't bother with this coward!"
Kael Meng glanced at Big Meng, noticing a red flush on his dark cheeks, like a hot iron block glowing red. He couldn't help but sneer and impatiently shouted,"Hey! Big Meng! I'm already hungry. Can we stop with all the disgusting blabbering and get started?"
Big Meng, unbothered, grinned, showing his white teeth and laughed heartily."Alright, I'll listen to you!" No sooner had he spoken than his massive body moved forward with a thundering stomp, like a bull charging into the arena. The match began with cheers from the crowd!
In the next moment, the two contestants collided like roaring bulls, kicking up dust that obscured the view but couldn't drown out the audience's cheers. Their figures tangled and rolled in the dust, like two fierce beasts, neither willing to give an inch.