Endless Night

The sun set that day—and never rose again.

The world drowned in eternal darkness, a fathomless abyss devouring all light. Daylight had long faded into myth. Endless tundra stretched under howling winds, where blizzards piled snow waist-deep. Twin Trees Village lay half-buried beneath the drifts, its forty-odd households mere shadowy outlines in the blackness. Roofs creaked under the gale's fury, threatening to tear away.

Qin Ming stirred, weakened by hunger. Even the thought of food—steaming meat, ripe fruit, or stale bread—made his mouth water. He curled tighter into his threadbare quilt. The kang stove's warmth barely held back the cold; each breath seared his lungs like shards of ice. Desperately, he forced his mind from food—his stomach churned with acid at the mere idea.

Yet tonight felt different. His mind, usually fogged by illness, was startlingly clear. Could the curse finally be lifting? Though shivering and starved, hope flickered in his eyes. He waited for Dusklight—the closest this era had to dawn.

Outside, the blizzard waned. Snowflakes thinned to scattered whispers.

Neighbors stirred. Voices carried from the next courtyard—Lu Ze and Liang Wanqing, a young couple.

"Where are you going? To feed Qin Ming again?" Liang's voice sharpened.

"He's just a boy—sick, alone," Lu Ze murmured.

"Our children will starve if this goes on!"

"The storm's ending. We'll find a way." Lu Ze gazed into the void.

Qin Ming overheard, guilt knotting his chest. He rose, layered in patched and a moth-eaten fur coat, yet still trembling. His once-athletic frame had withered; shoulder-length hair hung dull, face pallid. But his eyes—burning with stubborn clarity—defied the sickness.

A month ago, he'd staggered back from the mountains, limbs blackened. Others in his group died that very day. The village expected him to follow. Yet here he stood, surviving the "curse."

Memories of the mountains clawed at him—shapeless horrors, a price paid in madness.

Outside, the darkness shifted. Dusklight seeped in, thinning the night to murky twilight. Distant shapes remained blurred, but Lu Ze appeared, shovel in hand, carving a path through snowdrifts.

"Brother Lu." Qin Ming pushed open the ice-sealed door.

Lu Ze tipped a glowing pouch into a stone basin. Crimson Sunstones clattered out, their fiery glow piercing the gloom—a relic from the Flame Springs, dimmed now but still defiant.

"You look… better," Lu Ze remarked.

Qin Ming confessed his improving health. The older man nodded. "Stubbornness suits you." He emptied remaining stones into a copper basin, flooding the room with warmth. Sunstones needed daily replenishment at the Springs, their borrowed heat fleeting.

"Eat." Lu Ze thrust forward a food box.

Qin Ming hesitated—he'd heard their argument, knew their pantry neared empty. Yet Lu Ze insisted: "You saved me in those woods. This is debt repaid."

The black barley bread steamed faintly. Qin Ming devoured it, coarse texture forgotten, savoring each crumb.

Later, Qin Ming wandered the village. Dusklight cast feeble glows from Sunstones in every home. Neighbors stared—how had the cursed boy survived?

Granny Zhou, gaunt and frail, pressed withered sweet potato strips into his palm. He refused gently, noting her hollow cheeks.

At the village edge, a black goat taller than a man pulled a stone mill, grinding silvery mutant wheat. Yang Yongqing, the owner, eyed Qin Ming from his gate. "Fortune favors survivors," he said, patting his ample belly.

Qin Ming smiled thinly. Ahead, the Flame Springs flickered—a knee-high stone pool cradling two trees, one ink-leafed, one snow-white, defying winter's grip. Twin Trees Village's namesake.

Here, even in decay, fire endured.