When An Nan woke at dawn, he had to face a fact.
The note was gone, and so was the drawing board.
The door bolt remained intact, and Martin was still sleeping soundly wrapped in his bedding. Undoubtedly, hearing the faint commotion outside, the ghosts had visited again last night and taken the drawing board.
That was An Nan's first gift, and it held special meaning.
An Nan woke Martin, who simply put on his clothes and collapsed back onto the bed.
Soon after, Old Zoren came by, saying today was the last day—though who knew if he'd be red-eyed by evening, begging for one more try.
Old Zoren proved his determination through action—limping along as he followed them into the gold mine.
An Nan felt less pressure; after all, the ghosts taking the drawing board meant they liked the artwork. Perhaps they were waiting in the mine to lead them to undiscovered veins.
"Which tunnel do you think will yield ore?"
An Nan casually pointed to yesterday's tunnel, and Old Zoren actually listened, urging them to hurry.
They returned to yesterday's hollow and continued digging. Old Zoren managed a few strikes before his lame leg forced him into supervising.
Old Zoren's encouragement affected Martin, who worked harder than usual. An Nan was willing but weak, though Old Zoren didn't reproach him, merely fidgeting anxiously with his lame leg whenever An Nan rested.
An Nan had no choice but to persist. Fatigue gradually distorted his posture. During another swing of the pickaxe, the point scraped along the rock wall, sparking, and the loosened head detached from its wooden handle, grazing An Nan's face and Martin's scalp before flying toward Old Zoren.
Thank heavens he was using his pickaxe as a crutch. The flying head struck it, changing direction to hit the ceiling, knocking loose a rock before ending its mischievous journey.
The falling stone landed squarely on Martin's head.
"This wasn't part of my life plan..." Martin grumbled, clutching his head, not noticing An Nan staring at Old Zoren, who was fixated on the ground.
In the lamplight, the fallen rock gleamed with a dark golden lustre, while a pale silhouette flickered briefly in the darkness.
Old Zoren pounced on the rock, forgetting his near-death experience, urging Martin and An Nan to dig above.
Martin raised his pickaxe, barely reaching the ceiling. After some complaints, he began throwing the pickaxe upward.
Old Zoren retreated with unprecedented agility.
Whether it was good luck or bad, they found nothing in the following hours. No vein was discovered; the chance piece of ore might have just been overlooked.
Clang—
Martin set down his pickaxe and sat beside Old Zoren to rest.
The strike echoed through the deep mine, returning with murky discord.
"Did you hear that?"
An Nan gazed questioningly into the mine's depths.
"You heard something?" Martin rubbed his stomach. "That's just my belly growling again."
"No..."
An Nan listened carefully; the unusual noise hadn't faded.
He set down his pickaxe and ducked out of the side tunnel. Standing in the main shaft, the chaotic sounds grew clearer—a mixture of shouts, screams, and running footsteps.
Realizing something was wrong, An Nan ran back to the tunnel, telling Martin to drag Old Zoren, who was clutching the ore, and follow the miners running from the depths.
Lamp light spilled over chaotic shadows as An Nan led Martin and Old Zoren along the wall, avoiding falls and collisions.
During this, An Nan heard faint barking, awakening recent memories—wandering kobolds.
How did kobolds end up working with ghosts?
The exit's faint light appeared ahead. Before the kobolds could catch up, they escaped the mine with the other miners.
For two consecutive days, the miners had been driven from the gold mine.
The foremen gathered in camp to brainstorm while miners refused to enter. An Nan and Martin followed Old Zoren to crush and smelt their recovered ore, producing a gold nugget smaller than a fingernail.
Just enough for Old Zoren to pay their wages and make a small profit—slightly more than one silver coin. Equivalent to Old Zoren taking his own share of wages.
At least they hadn't returned empty-handed.
When they returned to camp, the foremen were still deliberating.
Had it been gnolls or ghost hordes, they would have abandoned the mine without hesitation. The haunted mine was already depleted, not worth such risk. But kobolds, creatures so weak that two couldn't defeat one adult human, weren't threatening enough.
More crucially, kobold tribes had mining professions and, like dragons, loved collecting shiny things. If they could find these kobolds' lair...
It seemed the only solution was to offer more money. But that no longer concerned An Nan and his companions.
An Nan convinced Old Zoren to abandon unrealistic fantasies and received their wages: 1 silver and 40 copper coins each for him and Martin.
"Remember our agreement, cousin."
Martin spoke while hiding 20 copper coins in his unwashed feet and month-old shoes.
Heaven help whoever ended up with those coins.
An Nan agreed with Martin, ran from the shack, and found the half-minotaur in a secluded forest area, warning her about the ghosts and kobolds.
"My name is An Nan."
"Tasia," the half-minotaur said.
"A female name?" An Nan noticed the implication.
"What did you think?"
Unable to politely search for Tasia's feminine features, An Nan bypassed the topic with a farewell: "Um... hope we meet again."
Rejoining Martin, he glanced back while leaving camp to see the half-minotaur Tasia still watching from beneath the trees.
They returned to town with regret and disappointment. As they approached Aunt Susan's house, his mood gradually improved at the sight of the familiar robust figure wearing an apron.
"Aunt Susan!"
Martin, away from home for days, excitedly rushed toward Aunt Susan.
"Oh, my little An Nan, look how thin and dirty you've become—" Aunt Susan pushed Martin aside and embraced An Nan, "Look at your hands, it breaks Aunt Susan's heart..."
With An Nan and Martin's return, dinner was more abundant than usual. Aunt Susan heated water for the boys to wash up.
Martin quickly finished his bath, while An Nan soaked longer to relieve fatigue. When he emerged, the atmosphere at the dinner table seemed odd.
Uncle Horlin hunched in his seat like an audience awaiting a performance, while Martin frantically signaled to An Nan.
"Little An Nan, tell Aunt, how much did you earn?"
"40 copper coins per day, why, Aunt Susan?" An Nan asked innocently, tilting his head.
"Thank you, little An Nan."
Aunt Susan grabbed her broom and approached the anxious Martin.
...
Mr. Fast wouldn't return for three more days. Including his begging days before Aunt Susan found him, An Nan had now lost three jobs.
"Little An Nan, would you like to go out tomorrow?" Aunt Susan asked lovingly after dealing with Martin.
An Nan wanted to say he wasn't a child, but after the oppressive mine tunnels, he did need to lift his spirits.
"What about me?"
Martin looked up while retying the scattered broom bristles.
"You're going to chop all the firewood that's piled up these past days!"