FOUNDATIONS LAID, BOXES PACKED

The morning mist in Yúnzhī Cūn, thick and cool as spilled milk, swirled around Anze's legs as he stood at the entrance to Mòfáng, watching Yan attempt to sweep the stone flags with more enthusiasm than precision. The rhythmic *clack-clack-clack* from Auntie Mei's shed was a steady counterpoint to the distant rush of the gorge river. He took a slow breath, the scent of damp earth and pine resin filling his lungs, grounding him for the conversation ahead. "Yan," he called, his voice cutting through the quiet morning sounds. She paused mid-sweep, sending a small cascade of pebbles skittering towards the edge of the terrace, and looked up, her dark eyes bright and questioning. "Come inside a moment." She propped the broom against the stone wall, its handle leaving a damp mark, and followed him into the café's familiar warmth, the scent of yesterday's coffee grounds and woodsmoke hanging in the air. He gestured towards one of the low stools near the counter, but she remained standing, sensing the shift in his usual quiet. Anze leaned back against the worn countertop, his arms folded loosely across his chest. "Xu Linxue," he began, choosing his words with the care he'd use handling Granny Wen's fragile herbs. "She's decided… she's not just visiting again." Yan's eyes widened, instantly alert. "She found the bird? She's coming back to take pictures?" Anze shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "No bird pictures. Not like that. She's… she's finished her work in the city. She's coming to stay. Here. With us." He saw the spark of confusion, the questions bubbling up. "For good?" Yan breathed, the concept seeming vast and slightly unbelievable. "For now," Anze clarified, keeping it simple, protecting the rawness he'd sensed in Xu's call, the unspoken reasons that weren't his to share. "She needs a place. I'm making her a room. Here." He nodded towards the dim alcove by the back stairs, currently stacked with sacks of rice and dried beans. Yan's confusion melted into pure, unadulterated delight. "Shīfu! That's amazing! Like… like Teacher Lin! But Xu Jiejie is funnier! Where? How? Can I help?" The questions tumbled out. Anze held up a hand, a gentle stop signal. "Later. First, find Da Chun. Tell him…" he paused, considering the farmer's practical nature, "...tell him I need strong wood. Good planks. For building. Tell him it's urgent. Three days." The timeframe focused Yan instantly. "Three days! Okay! Da Chun! Strong wood! Urgent!" She parroted the essentials, already turning to dash out, the sweeping forgotten. "And Yan?" Anze added, stopping her at the door. She looked back, vibrating with energy. "Just tell him it's for building. For Xu staying. The details… Xu might want to share them herself later." Yan nodded, understanding dawning. Secrets weren't foreign in Yúnzhī Cūn. "Just building. Got it!" And she was gone, a small whirlwind disappearing into the mist.

Anze busied himself clearing the counter, the familiar motions soothing. He didn't have to wait long. Heavy footsteps, muffled by the damp stone, approached, and Da Chun's broad frame filled the doorway, Yan hovering excitedly just behind him. The farmer's face was serious, etched with the morning's labour, his hands still streaked with dark soil. He stepped inside, the cool dimness of the café a contrast to the bright mist outside. "Anze," he rumbled, his voice low. "Yan says… building? Urgent wood? For… Xu Jiejie?" He stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar concept. "Staying?" Anze met his gaze, nodding. "Yes. Staying. She needs a room. I'm building it there." He pointed towards the alcove. "Need good planks. Straight grain. Dry. Enough for walls, maybe a small floor section." Da Chun's practical eyes assessed the space, mentally measuring. He walked over, nudged a sack of rice with his boot, peered into the shadowed corner. "Solid stone back here," he grunted, tapping the wall. "Good foundation. But damp. Need treated wood. Resin-soaked." He turned back to Anze. "Three days, Yan says?" "Three days," Anze confirmed. "She arrives valley station at four. Want the shell up before she comes." Da Chun absorbed this, his brow furrowed in thought. The request was unusual, the timeframe tight, but Anze asking meant it mattered. He scratched his chin, leaving a faint smudge of earth. "Old pine," he said decisively. "From the north ridge windfall last winter. Been seasoning in Feng's shed. Good and dry. Strong. Resin-rich. I cut it myself." A pause. "Enough?" "Enough for a start," Anze agreed. "She'll help finish. Wants to be part of it." This seemed to settle something for Da Chun. A nod, firm and accepting. "Okay. I bring it. After noon. Need cart and donkey." He turned to leave, then stopped, looking back at Anze, a flicker of something akin to shyness crossing his face. "Xu Jiejie… she good with terraces?" It was an olive branch, an offer of belonging. Anze almost smiled. "Don't know yet. But she learns fast. And she sees things." Da Chun nodded again, seemingly satisfied with this cryptic answer, and lumbered out, Yan bouncing after him, already chattering about where the wood should go.

The news, carried by Yan's boundless energy, rippled through Yúnzhī Cūn faster than mist burning off the gorge. Anze had barely finished clearing the alcove, muscles protesting as he hauled sacks of rice into the main café storage, when the first visitor arrived. Granny Wen appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on her cane, a bundle of tightly woven, water-repellent hemp cloth clutched in her free hand. "Ánzǐ," she announced, her rasp cutting through the sounds of shifting grain. "For the damp stone. Lay this first. Keeps the cold out." She thrust the bundle at him. Before he could properly thank her, Auntie Mei was there, placing a sturdy basket filled with thick, felted wool squares dyed deep indigo on the newly cleared floor space. "Insulation," she stated, patting the basket. "Stuffed between the planks. Quieter. Warmer. Better than city plaster." Her gaze swept the alcove. "Small window? Facing east? Good light for waking." Anze nodded, touched by the immediate, practical understanding. Teacher Lin arrived next, carrying a small, polished wooden box. Inside, nestled in straw, were several delicate but strong hinges and a simple, beautifully crafted latch made of aged bronze. "For the door," she said softly. "Uncle Bo sent them. Said Mùtóu might forget the small things that hold the big things together." Even Trader Zhang, looking slightly more harried than usual, dropped off a heavy bag of lime powder. "For mortar," he explained hastily. "If you need to seal cracks later. Good stuff. City-made." He lingered for a moment, his eyes darting around the nascent construction site. "Xu Jiejie… staying? Permanently?" There was a speculative glint in his eye, quickly masked. "For now," Anze repeated, his tone neutral but firm. Zhang nodded rapidly. "Good, good. More business for the café, maybe." He scurried away. By mid-afternoon, the alcove floor was covered in Granny Wen's hemp barrier, Auntie Mei's felted wool squares were stacked neatly to one side, and Da Chun had arrived with the first load of fragrant, golden pine planks, the resin scent filling the café. Anze and Da Chun worked in focused silence, measuring the space, marking cuts on the smooth wood with charcoal. The rhythmic rasp of the handsaw, the solid thunk of the hammer driving marking pegs, became the new heartbeat of Mòfáng. Yan darted in and out, fetching tools, holding planks steady, her face alight with the importance of the task. The village had spoken, not with grand pronouncements, but with hemp, wool, bronze, and seasoned pine. Xu's place was being woven into the fabric of Yúnzhī Cūn before she even set foot back on the Thread Path.

***

The air in Xu's Shanghai apartment tasted stale, thick with the dust of displacement and the faint, lingering scent of city rain trapped behind sealed windows. Cardboard boxes, like awkward, brown monoliths, were multiplying across the floor, swallowing her sleek furniture whole. She folded a cashmere sweater, its softness feeling alien now, and placed it in a box labelled 'Storage – Maybe'. The reality of her decision, the sheer physicality of dismantling her life, was a weight pressing down. The shrill ring of her phone cut through the quiet. It was her landlord, Mr. Wong. "Ms. Xu? My secretary said you called? Moving out? But your lease…" Xu took a steadying breath, bracing for the negotiation, the potential penalty. "Yes, Mr. Wong. Unexpected circumstances. I need to vacate in three days. I understand about the lease break clause. I'll forfeit the deposit." There was a pause on the line, then a sigh. "Three days? Very sudden. Very inconvenient. The deposit covers only part…" Xu closed her eyes, summoning the image of the misty gorge, the solid stone of Mòfáng. "I know, Mr. Wong. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Please apply the deposit, and I'll authorize an extra month's rent from the security to cover the rest. I'll leave the keys with the concierge on the morning of the third day." The offer, generous and decisive, seemed to mollify him. "Hmm. Well. If you're sure. Three days. Apartment must be empty and clean, Ms. Xu." "It will be, Mr. Wong. Thank you." She ended the call, the finality of it settling like dust. Her life in this city was officially boxed and scheduled for departure.

The key rattled in the lock just as she was wrestling her professional camera bag into a specially padded crate. Li Na burst in, carrying two large takeaway bags smelling pungently of Szechuan spices and a bottle of rice wine. "Reinforcements!" she declared, kicking off her stylish ankle boots. "And fuel! You look like you've been wrestling ghosts, Linxue." She took in the sea of boxes, the half-empty bookshelves, the disarray. "Wow. You weren't kidding. Operation Mountain Migration is in full swing." Xu managed a tired smile, grateful beyond words. "Mostly ghosts of my former life. And impractical shoes. Help me decide what's 'mountain-worthy'?" They worked side-by-side, the takeaway containers open on the cleared coffee table. The conversation flowed easier now than during their fraught call. Li Na held up a sequinned cocktail dress. "Essential for tending radishes?" Xu snorted. "Storage. Definitely storage." A delicate silk blouse. "Mist and silk?" "Mist wins. Storage." They laughed, the tension easing. Li Na carefully packed Xu's cameras and lenses, her movements surprisingly gentle. "Promise me," she said, her voice softer now, not looking up as she nestled a lens into foam, "promise you'll text? Every day? Even just 'saw a weird bird' or 'ate a radish'? So I know you haven't been eaten by a yeti or fallen off another cliff?" Xu paused, folding a thick flannel shirt Anze would likely approve of. "There's WeChat," she said. "Anze… he keeps his phone charged now. There's signal in the café, slow but steady. We can text." Li Na looked up, relief softening her features. "Okay. WeChat. Every night. A sentence. A picture of a weird cloud. Something. Deal?" "Deal," Xu agreed, touched by the depth of her friend's concern masked as practicality. "And you? Promise to visit? Bring those hiking boots?" Li Na grinned, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor. Once you've built your hermit hut. I need to inspect this mountain man properly." They packed late into the night, the apartment transforming from a home into a transit point. Eventually, exhaustion won. They spread blankets and pillows on the cleared living room floor amidst the boxes, a makeshift camp in the ruins of Xu's Shanghai life. Li Na, fueled by rice wine and the day's emotional rollercoaster, fell asleep almost instantly, her breathing deep and even. Xu lay beside her, staring at the ceiling's geometric shadows cast by the city lights filtering through the blinds. The quiet hum of the refrigerator, the distant wail of a siren – sounds she'd known for years – suddenly felt alien, like listening to a language she no longer spoke. Her mind raced. Three days. A room being built of pine and village goodwill. The Thread Path. Anze waiting at the station. The sheer, terrifying leap of faith. She reached for her phone, its glow bright in the darkness. Opening WeChat, she tapped Anze's name – **Ān Zé**.

> **Xu:** Told the landlord. Three days. Keys left morning of. Packing mostly done. Li Na helped. She's sleeping here. Worried. Made me promise to text nightly. Told her about café WiFi. Feels… surreal. Like standing at the edge of the gorge again. How's the… space?

She hit send, watching the single grey tick appear. The satellite delay was always unpredictable. She waited, the silence of the apartment pressing in, broken only by Li Na's soft snores. Then, her phone vibrated softly. Not just a message. A picture. It loaded slowly, resolving into a dimly lit image clearly taken inside Mòfáng. It showed the alcove. Granny Wen's dark hemp cloth covered the stone floor. Stacked neatly to one side were Auntie Mei's felted wool squares, like blocks of midnight sky. And leaning against the back wall, catching the faint light from the café's main room, were several long, straight, golden pine planks, their grain visible even in the low resolution. Da Chun's windfall pine. The beginnings of her walls. The foundation laid. A second message popped up.

> **Anze:** Started. Good wood. Dry. Strong. Da Chun brought it. Yan fetched tools. Floor covered. Wool for walls. Hinges from Bo. Room waits. We finish together when you come.

Xu stared at the picture, then read the message again. Tears pricked her eyes, hot and sudden. Not tears of sadness, but of overwhelming relief, gratitude, and a fierce sense of belonging that started right there, in that pixelated image of raw pine and rough wool in a stone alcove. He'd understood. He'd shown her. She typed, her fingers trembling slightly.

> **Xu:** Anze… it looks perfect. Solid. Better than perfect. Thank you. Thank Da Chun. Thank everyone. Tell Yan she's official tool-fetcher. We *will* finish it together. Can't wait to see it… see you. See everyone. Three days feels like forever now.

The reply came faster this time.

> **Anze:** Three days is the Thread Path once. You walked it hurt. You can wait it now. Sleep, Xu. Tomorrow more packing. We work here too.

A simple instruction. A shared purpose. A connection spanning the miles and the mist.

> **Xu:** Okay. Sleep. Or try to. Good night, Anze. Tell the mountains good night from me.

> **Anze:** Good night, Xu. Mountains listen.

Xu put her phone down, the screen fading to black. She looked at the picture once more in her mind – the pine planks, the dark wool, the promise of a room facing east. Outside, Shanghai roared its endless, indifferent song. Inside, amidst the boxes and her sleeping friend, Xu Linxue closed her eyes. The edge of the gorge didn't feel so steep anymore. There was a bridge being built, plank by plank, text by text. And for the first time that night, sleep began to pull her under, not into anxious dreams, but towards the quiet expectation of dawn light hitting a distant gorge, and the sound of a handsaw rasping through fragrant pine. In Yúnzhī Cūn, Anze Li stood for a moment longer in the silent café, the phone's glow reflecting in his dark eyes as he looked at the nascent room, then out at the mist-shrouded night. He banked the stove embers one last time, the scent of pine resin strong in the still air. Sleep would come slowly for him too, the weight of the next three days, the echo of Xu's text, and the solid presence of the waiting planks a tangible force in the quiet dark. The foundations were laid, in the mountains and across the distance, waiting only for her arrival to raise the walls.