Granny Chen's figure appeared particularly thin in the morning mist. Each time she struck the soft, damp earth with her old elm wood cane, it made a dull thud.
She walked to the simple altar surrounded by tiles, old bowls, and rusty iron plowshares.
The night dew was heavy, soaking everything.
The chipped celadon teacup was half-filled with cool rainwater, and a long, narrow reed leaf floated quietly on the surface.
Strangely, the silver veins on the leaf did not dim from being submerged in water; instead, they seemed to come alive, shimmering with a faint light. In the small reflection on the water's surface, they outlined the contours of a winding path, like a miniature map of this vast wetland.
A glint flashed in Granny Chen's cloudy eyes. Without the slightest hesitation, she slowly squatted down, her withered, bark-like fingers trembling as she reached for the glass of water.
The moment her fingertips lightly touched the water's surface, a ripple spread outwards. The light patterns on the silver path remained perfectly intact, as if they had come to life. They followed her fingertips like tiny electric snakes, rapidly climbing up the back of her hand and darting into her palm.
The light patterns twisted and turned in her calloused palm, eventually forming three clear silver characters: "It has awakened."
A sudden jolt ran through her, as if she had been struck by a heavy hammer, but there was no trace of panic on Granny Chen's face.
She simply withdrew her hand slowly, and the silver light in her palm disappeared.
She gazed at the vast, awakening wetlands in the morning light and whispered in a voice only she could hear: "No, it's not that it's awakened, it's that we... have finally started walking."
Not long after, Xiaoman appeared at the other end of the path.
She carried an old, army-green water bottle on her back and clutched a roll of rough hemp rope in her hand, her steps light and hurried.
She immediately noticed the change in the wall-talking flower in the center of the altar.
Yesterday, the silver veins that were only faintly visible on the stem have now stabilized and are clearly visible, like a blood vessel flowing with mercury.
What made her heart race even faster was that the inside of the half-open petals resembled a small play of light and shadow, with dynamic images appearing.
In the scene, a pair of bare feet are on the wet mud, toes sinking deep and heels lifting. With each step, the silvery patterns of wild grass on the ground ripple outwards like pebbles thrown into a lake.
Those feet walked slowly, yet with an indescribable rhythm, as if breathing in sync with the earth.
Xiaoman was stunned, her mind completely captivated by the scene.
As if she heard some silent call, she put down the kettle and the rope, deftly took off her rubber shoes and cotton socks, and stepped her clean white feet onto the cool, damp ground.
She imitated the way in the picture, lifting her heels and placing all her weight on the balls of her feet. Then, heavily, with a hint of awe, she stepped onto the path of light formed by the silvery patterns of wild grass.
One step, two steps...
A strange warm current suddenly surged up from the Yongquan acupoint on the sole of my foot, instantly spreading throughout my limbs and bones!
That wasn't the temperature of the soil, but a warm and powerful energy originating from deep within the earth's veins.
Just then, she suddenly heard a very faint echo coming from the ground beneath her feet—the sound was delicate and complex, like billions of creatures hidden underground responding to her footsteps with countless tiny footsteps.
She was greatly encouraged and, without further hesitation, walked forward step by step with determination.
The further she walked, the brighter the path of light beneath her feet became, the silver light even spreading from the roots of the grass to the tips of the blades.
Even more miraculously, after she walked several dozen meters, the path of light in front of her began to fork on its own, as if it had its own will.
One branch winds its way north to the roots of the old, gnarled locust tree in the distance; the other branch heads east, plunging deep into the endless reed marshland.
Xiaoman stopped and hesitated for a moment.
The old locust tree to the north is a landmark in the village, representing stability and a sense of belonging.
The reed marshes to the east, on the other hand, are full of unknowns and mysteries.
Almost instinctively, she chose the East.
The reeds were taller than a person. As she walked through them, the tall reed stalks brushed against her cheeks and arms, causing a slight itch.
The light path clearly guides the way beneath our feet.
After walking for an unknown amount of time, she suddenly noticed that the silvery veins of a clump of wild grass ahead had abruptly gone out, and the mycelium that formed the path of light had curled up like startled tentacles, revealing the hardened and cracked soil below.
The light path is broken here...
Xiaoman immediately squatted down and reached out to touch the ground; it was hard and lifeless.
She immediately understood that the soil here was compacted and severely depleted of moisture, making it unable to support the flow of that life energy.
Without thinking twice, she immediately ran to retrieve the kettle, unscrewed the cap, and carefully poured the cool well water onto the parched land.
With a hissing sound, the soil greedily absorbed the moisture.
She then took out a small entrenching tool from her waist and carefully broke up and loosened the hardened clods of soil, allowing the water to penetrate deeper.
After doing all this, she untied the roll of hemp rope and laid it flat on the damp soil, as if she were laying a breathable "bandage" on the wounded earth.
A miracle happened.
In just a moment, the originally rough and dark hemp rope began to emanate a faint silver light from within.
The silver light spread along the fibers of the rope, reconnecting with the light paths at both ends.
The curled-up mycelium seemed to be soothed, slowly unfurling and reattaching to the hemp rope, while the extinguished silver veins of the wild grass were rekindled one by one.
She repaired the broken light path!
From afar on the hillside, Granny Chen took in all of this, but she didn't go forward to offer any pointers. Instead, she silently turned around and walked back to her own courtyard.
She pulled out an old ledger with a worn and blackened cover from a locked wooden box under the bed.
The ledger records the life of a man named Lin Yi, from birth to... disappearance, in bold handwriting.
She flipped directly to the last page, where her own handwriting was displayed. A line of words, written crookedly yet powerfully, read: "Light is not transmitted down, but walked out."
At this moment, the ink marks also faintly shimmered with silver light, echoing the light in the wetlands.
Grandma Chen gently closed the ledger, as if holding a rare treasure, and slowly walked back to the wetland.
She walked to the end of the newly repaired paved road, squatted down, dug away the damp soil with her hands, and solemnly buried the account book that contained a person's entire life.
The soil seemed to possess a spirit, automatically closing up without leaving a trace of being disturbed.
Immediately afterwards, countless silver mycelia surged from all directions, wrapped around the spine of the book, and after just one circle, they carried the account book and slowly sank into the deeper layers of soil—like the earth receiving an unfinished message.
That night, Xiaoman had an incredibly vivid dream.
She dreamt that she was walking on a boundless path of light, with the silver veins of the wild grass on both sides shining brightly, illuminating the whole world.
On the petals of each wall-flower, the footprints of different people emerge: there are elderly people wearing heavy cloth shoes and walking with difficulty, there are children who are barefoot and jumping around, and there are women wearing shoes with several patches on the soles and walking with unusually steady steps... Countless footprints and countless life trajectories converge on this path of light.
She excitedly looked down to see what her footprints looked like, but was horrified to find that the path of light beneath her feet was completely blank.
She panicked and desperately tried to leave a mark on the ground, even taking off her shoes to try and brand it with her feet, but no matter what she did, she couldn't leave a single trace.
Amidst this boundless anxiety, she suddenly woke up.
Before dawn, she could no longer fall asleep.
As dawn broke, she rushed towards the wetlands like a madwoman.
When she arrived at the path of light, the first thing she did was step onto it barefoot.
She was no longer as cautious as she had been yesterday. Instead, she used all her strength to stomp her feet heavily, again and again, until her soles were burning hot and she felt a sharp pain.
She was panting heavily, looking at the light path beneath her feet, as if she were talking to herself, her voice tinged with a sob and unwavering stubbornness: "I'm walking too, I'm walking too!"
At dusk, a strange change occurred.
The silvery veins of the wild grass in the entire wetland flickered on and off three times in unison without warning, each time lasting for several seconds, as if the breath of the entire earth had stopped.
Xiaoman and Granny Chen stared in astonishment at the scene.
After the third flash, the light shone again, but it was no longer as docile as before, confined to the existing path.
The light flowed like a flood bursting its banks, spreading erratically in all directions, frantically outlining and piecing together patterns on the dark mud, ultimately creating countless intersecting footprints!
The footprints varied in size and direction, some deep and some shallow, some hurried and some leisurely, but they all ultimately pointed to the same direction: the location of the buried ledger.
Standing on high ground, looking at the "footprints of the masses" made of light heading towards the same destination, Grandma Chen felt a surge of emotion. Her voice trembled with excitement as she murmured, "So... so it has started to recognize people."
Deep beneath her feet, in the earth, the old ledger, covered in soil, slowly began to gleam with an ever-increasing silver light, like a heart awakened from its slumber, throbbing powerfully with each beat.
Grandma Chen's joy lasted only a moment before it was replaced by a strange feeling.
She lowered her head and felt a faint heat emanating from the ground beneath her feet. Unlike the scorching sun during the day, it was a temperature rising from within, carrying a sense of thirst.
The silvery light that filled the air seemed to no longer be merely illuminating, but rather like countless greedy mouths, desperately sucking up the last bit of moisture and life from the air and the soil.
This land, awakened by the light, seemed to be thirsting because of the light's excessive brilliance.
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