Chapter 6 …
The Space
Siaoye Yang (Xiao Yeyang, 蕭燁陽) was in a daze but could hear the quiet conversation among the three people. At first, he was confused, but soon a memory resurfaced—he seemed to have escaped from the human traffickers. Suddenly alert, he opened his eyes wide.
It was an old carriage. Clearly not the kind used by a wealthy family. Inside, only he and the boy who had been stabbed remained. Siaoye Yang noticed that the boy’s breathing had stabilized and his complexion wasn’t as pale as expected. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
“Ah! You’re awake?”
At that moment, the carriage curtain was suddenly pulled aside, and the child who had previously struck the human trafficker’s head with a stone climbed into the carriage. The child first looked at Siaoye Yang, then at the stabbed boy, and finally found a small gourd inside the carriage, handing it to Siaoye Yang.
The boy did not take the gourd and continued to stare intently at him, prompting the child, Duhua, to think:
‘This little one is very cautious.’
“Drink it. It’s not poisoned.”
Siaoye Yang hesitated briefly but took the gourd. His hesitation wasn’t from fear of poison, but rather from the strict upbringing he had received, which taught him not to take others’ belongings carelessly. Yet now, hunger was overwhelming, and he had no choice but to set aside manners.
Gulp, gulp.
He drank more than half of the gourd’s contents in one go. If the child hadn’t been puffing up his cheeks across from him, he might have drunk it all in one swallow. Feeling a bit embarrassed, he handed the gourd back and awkwardly tried to ease the tension:
“What kind of broth is this? It’s really delicious!”
Although Siaoye Yang had grown up in a noble household and tasted the finest foods, he had never experienced anything as tasty as this broth. Drinking it seemed to restore strength to his exhausted body. Could it be real? Even the best tonic wouldn’t have such a miraculous effect!
Duhua took the small gourd in her hands and shook it to check its contents. Seeing that little remained, she pouted.
The gourd contained a rice gruel—but not an ordinary one. The ingredients came from Duhua’s own magical space.
Yes, that very space you’re imagining.
When she had been in the ancient era, perhaps Heaven worried she wouldn’t survive, so it gifted her a magical treasure—a personal space. The space grew from a small green rice flower on the palm of Duhua’s right hand.
The space wasn’t large, and it didn’t contain miraculous springs or the mystical formations sought by cultivators. Within it were only three small plots of land: one yellow, one red, and one black. Each plot measured roughly one mu (畝).
Managing this space was no simple task. It required constant absorption of external plant energy, and rice energy was the most vital. Duhua had to stay in touch with nature so the rice flower on her hand could shine with a jade-green luster.
The more vivid the flower’s jade hue, the more fertile the soil in the space became, and the more nutritious the crops grown in it.
Duhua had discovered this space when she was six months old. At that time, she couldn’t venture outside and had no access to natural plant energy. The three plots of soil were no better than the parched, cracked fields of the northern lands.
It was only after she could walk and run that she began cultivating the land. Nine years of diligent care had passed, and her efforts bore fruit: crops grown in her space were far superior in quality to those in the outside world.
The rice gruel in the gourd had been prepared for Lao Taetai. Duhua frequently fed him crops from her space, keeping him healthier than ordinary elderly men. But after traveling for fifteen days, even Lao Taetai was exhausted. Yet…
‘Someone else drank the gruel I made!’
Duhua glared at Siaoye Yang, then, seeing the other wounded boy in the carriage, decided to feed all the remaining gruel to him instead.
“What’s your name?”
As she fed the stabbed boy, she asked Siaoye Yang. The boy hesitated as if unwilling to answer but finally said:
“Siaoye Yang.”
Just hearing the name, Duhua could tell he came from a distinguished family. Ordinary households didn’t give such names. Even Duhua herself, though her father was a seventh-rank magistrate, grew up in the countryside and was still simply called Duhua (稻花, literally “rice flower”).
Duhua sized Siaoye Yang up from head to toe.
A child of roughly eleven or twelve, his face smudged with dirt, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, wearing filthy, stinking clothes—he looked no different from street urchins.
Yet his upright posture and calm expression betrayed excellent upbringing.
Siaoye Yang discreetly glanced at Duhua in return.
‘Delicate and beautiful!’
That was his first impression. Since Duhua was dressed as a boy, he assumed she was male. But he didn’t like how “male” she looked. A boy should be sturdy and imposing, not fragile and delicate. That boy seemed even more refined than a girl. Still, he had to admit her courage—striking the trafficker with a stone was no small feat. Brave and bold indeed!
Meanwhile, after assessing Siaoye Yang, Duhua turned her attention to the still-unconscious stabbed boy.
“And this one? What’s his name?”
Siaoye Yang shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The traffickers had kidnapped children from various places, so the children didn’t know each other well.
Duhua asked in puzzlement:
“Weren’t you kidnapped together?”
“No.”
“Then how did you end up escaping together?”
Siaoye Yang replied with a gloomy expression:
“The other children were too scared to resist. But this one was different. So we secretly discussed a way to escape together.”
Duhua nodded.
“You two are really gutsy.”
Siaoye Yang then turned to Duhua.
“And you? What’s your name?”
“I’m Duhua.”
“Duhua?”
He frowned, scanning her up and down. Why would she have a girl’s name?
Duhua, noticing his strange look, quickly understood. Of course—she was disguised as a boy, so a girl’s name seemed odd.
“Cough…”
At that moment, the stabbed boy woke up. He was wary at first but relaxed upon seeing Duhua and Siaoye Yang.
“Did we… escape?”
He asked Siaoye Yang, who nodded, allowing him to finally feel safe.
Duhua examined the boy’s wound, applied more medicine, and said:
“This only stops the bleeding. Once you reach the castle, you must see a physician to check it properly, understand?”
The boy looked at her gratefully.
“Thank you.”
Without her intervention, he would not have survived. Had she not struck the woman with a stone, he would have been strangled. Even the hemostatic medicine she applied was likely more effective than what the local village healer could have provided.
Siaoye Yang silently watched, repeatedly glancing at the gourd in Duhua’s hands.
‘What kind of medicine is this? It works better than the hemostatic remedies used in the military camps.’
Duhua then asked the stabbed boy:
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Zhao Ergou. Just call me Ergou.”
Duhua nodded. A name that reflected the simple charm of ancient rural life.
“How did you two end up captured by traffickers?”
Both were over ten, so it shouldn’t have been easy.
Their faces darkened. Zhao Ergou answered first in a grim tone:
“There was a severe drought in our hometown. My parents secretly sold me as a son-in-law. I tried to escape home, but I ran into traffickers along the way…”
Duhua sighed. Life in ancient times was truly harsh. Zhao Ergou’s parents probably didn’t want to sell him but had no choice to survive. Duhua had heard similar stories in her own village.
“And you? How were you kidnapped?”
She asked Siaoye Yang. He answered with a sheepish expression and a hesitant voice:
“I was kidnapped while another child was being taken.”
“Huh?”
Both Duhua and Zhao Ergou looked at him.
“I was in a bad mood that day. I wandered into an alley and saw traffickers knocking a child unconscious… and then I was taken too.”
Duhua didn’t know what to say and could only mutter:
“You really are unlucky!”
Was this what it meant to walk straight into death?
At that moment, An Munda appeared at the carriage. He hurriedly reported:
“The traffickers are here! They’re searching through the crowd behind us! Grandmother said you must not make a sound.”
The three—Duhua, Siaoye Yang, and Zhao Ergou—were shocked, hearts pounding.
Duhua peeked carefully behind the carriage. They were next to a roadside inn, surrounded by people from the passport country (Piaoguk), as well as many travelers from elsewhere.
Two burly men were searching through the crowd, even inspecting other carriages.
Duhua realized that if the men didn’t find the children, they wouldn’t give up easily. She lowered the curtain, frowning.
Siaoye Yang, seeing no hiding place in the carriage, thought for a moment:
“Maybe we should get off now. If the traffickers find us here, they might take it out on you too.”
The boy who had helped them escape was too young or too old to fight the traffickers.
But Duhua immediately objected:
“It’s too late to get off now. If we do, they’ll spot us immediately.”
An Munda wiped sweat from his forehead nervously:
“Grandmother said as long as you don’t make a sound, nothing will happen. Besides, we’re with the Piaoguk people; those to men won’t confront them.”
Duhua shook her head:
“The Piaoguk people won’t bother us.”
She rummaged through the luggage, taking out two small gourds. Siaoye Yang’s gaze flickered as he watched her step down with the gourds, approaching the Piaoguk people. When they accepted the gourd from her, he finally relaxed.
