The sun, red like a fierce beast plunging into an angry sea, was magnificent in its descent.
Shadows of the mountain peaks played tricks on the eye, hinting at unspoken sorrows.
The occasional gust of wind raised dust over the barren land, and as far as the eye could see, there was only the harsh undulations of the desolate landscape.
In a mountain hollow, a group of miners busied themselves, tirelessly digging out rocks and soil from the depths below and filling the nearby ravines mound by mound.
As twilight fell, the light gradually dimmed, the day's scorching heat giving way to a more bearable warmth.
Guards stationed around the worksite began showing signs of life, peeking out from their hiding spots.
A worn-out wooden reclining chair, hastily cobbled together, was carried up a hilltop by two men.
Resting on it, a gaunt middle-aged man, prematurely aged, narrowed his eyes against the setting sun.
He waved away those nearby, a hint of melancholy in his expression.
His hair, streaked with white, fluttered in the breeze, and there was a sickly weariness about him.
Yet, he was the best-dressed among them.
It was just a simple set of clothes, unlike the tattered scraps covering others, including the miners and the guards.
Many covered just enough to maintain their modesty, dirt-covered bodies, their faces unkempt and gaunt.
Not a single soul in this place carried any extra weight.
The main difference between guards and miners was that guards wielded weapons and wore grass-woven masks over their faces, with black cloth tied to their arms for identification.
To tear whole black cloths into strips was considered extravagant in this resource-starved Exile Lands.
Miners burrowing into the mountain and transporting rock and soil back to the mine had skin as bronzed as bronze, with none as pale or clean as the middle-aged man on the chair.
Most were barefoot, either out of necessity or by choice, preferring to let their soles toughen rather than wear out their woven grass shoes.
Meanwhile, others hung their shoes at their waists, accustomed to the hardship.
Among them, two stood out—a tall and a short one.
The difference was relative, as the shorter was not particularly short; it was just that the taller one was unusually tall.
Occasional gusts of wind blew through, lifting hair from their faces, revealing youthful features beneath the dirt and neglected stubble.
Unlike other miners whose faces bore the numbness of exhaustion, these two were focused on the man at the hilltop, staring intently even as they neared the mine entrance.
They failed to notice someone exiting the mine until they nearly collided, unlike the other miners who stepped aside.
The man who emerged from the mine was Shen Youkun, clad in mismatched clothes peppered with patches, yet one of the two who wore a complete outfit.
He was the overseer of this mining operation and had a notoriously bad temper, prone to fits of anger.
The conscripted miners feared him, yet relied on him for two daily meals and the promise of a reward—food supplies!
Shen Youkun had been the leader of this land until the middle-aged man in the reclining chair arrived.
Now, he seemed to have become a subordinate, deferring to another's authority.
This change piqued the curiosity of the two young men, who harbored past grievances with Shen Youkun.
Now, standing face to face, they felt a twinge of tension, having not anticipated such a close encounter.
They quickly bowed their heads, allowing their unkempt hair to shield their eyes.
The taller one bent at the knee, further trying to disguise his height, showing some cleverness.
Fortunately, Shen Youkun was not focused on them.
Upon reaching the entrance, his gaze swiftly turned to the man atop the hill as he brusquely pushed past, not so much as a second glance, marching purposefully onward.
The miners, caught up in their routine numbness, merely glanced back before continuing onward.
Any delay might be perceived as laziness, and the overseer's whip would show no mercy.
The two young men exchanged relieved glances, the taller one even patting his chest in relief.
Lucky indeed, they thought.
This mountain, barren of vegetation, was anything but stable.
Underfoot, gravel cascaded noisily as Shen Youkun ascended to the solitary recliner.
Out of breath, he said, "Uncle, why have you come to the mountaintop to catch the wind? Your powers were just stripped, leaving you still weak. You must take care."
It hadn't been long since his own powers had been stripped, casting him here to fend for himself, albeit a few years before his uncle.
Qi Ziru, his uncle, gazed into the last light of the horizon, seemingly lost.
"You said we must clear out the Eastern Nine Plains before proceeding. Have the people been cleared out?"
Instinctively about to promise, Shen Youkun caught a subtle insinuation in his uncle's question.
Eyeing the busy world below, he swallowed his words.
"Almost."
Qi Ziru remained unmoved.
"You once claimed that the inhabitants of the Eastern Nine Plains were troublesome and that secrecy was paramount. You said supplies were needed to clear the area. You surely know how difficult it is to smuggle supplies into these lands. Not even a sheet of paper can pass easily. But I got the supplies through. You've begun digging, yet you tell me it's almost cleared. How much is 'almost'?"
Head lowered, Shen Youkun hesitated.
"Almost all emptied, just two remain," he admitted, voicing efforts to distract from the real concern.
"Two are no threat."
Qi Ziru's gaze remained on the horizon, uninterested.
"So, it is these two unknowns you failed to remove. How is it, with so many at your disposal, you couldn't manage those two? I wish to know how 'unthreatening' they are."
Uncomfortable, Shen Youkun elaborated, "One is Big Boss Shi Chun, the other his trusty sidekick, Wu Jinliang. The hundred or so people of Eastern Nine Plains are accounted for. Only those two remain. Without eyes around, they can't possibly notice the activities here."
Qi Ziru slowly turned, coldly focusing on him.
"So, the remaining are the leaders themselves. What's their background?"
Shen Youkun sneered.
"Local natives, their ancestors long forgotten. In fights over water, their parents perished. Taking charity from many, they survived by sheer luck."
His tone held a mix of disdain and suppressed bitterness.
Qi Ziru flicked his gaze.
He understood that his nephew, since being sent here, may have clashed unpleasantly with Big Boss Shi Chun.
He chose not to press his nephew further, conserving his limited strength.
He had gleaned enough from what was shared.
Though new to the Exile Lands, Qi Ziru had familiarized himself with its general conditions, knowing the plight of the locals.
The struggle for survival was constant, resources scarce.
Whether cast away or native-born, the priority was survival.
People fought over essentials like water and wood, driven to desperation.
Anything exchangeable within the city became a source of conflict.
This unchecked greed had severely damaged the ecosystem, hampering redevelopment and intensifying the struggle.
In these lands, currency circulated only within the city's bounds, purchasing necessities.
Known as "Meritorious Deeds," it functioned as an economy.
Accumulate enough, and one might pass through the city gate, gaining freedom.
The "city" served as a massive prison entrance and transit point between realms.
Multiple cities dotted the Exile Lands.
For the punished, like Qi Ziru, gathering enough "Meritorious Deeds" did not equate to freedom.
His ten-year sentence stood unsoftened, unable to leave until served.
Such was the severe nature of their punishment.
Stripped of power and reduced to ordinary mortality, survival was brutal.
Many could not outlast their sentence.
In these lands, not even a single scrap of paper could accompany a new arrival.
Children of the condemned were exempt, free to leave upon earning enough "Meritorious Deeds."
But such wealth was hard won.
Mountains and rivers flickered in his nephew's subtle contempt.
"Shi Chun," Shen Youkun said, "had no surname. His parents, unaware of their heritage, didn’t know their family name. Born in spring, he was named 'Chun.'
Such is the custom among the lower inhabitants here; names are mere labels without much thought. In his youth, a woman came to Eastern Nine Plains. They said she was very beautiful.
Out of gratitude for some guidance, the locals let her stay. Whether to repay the kindness or merely out of boredom, she taught a few of the locals, including Shi Chun, to read. After three years, she vanished.
Whether freed or dead, no one knew her fate or origins, and her past disappeared with her."
Thought of as a mentor, Shi Chun adopted her surname, the 'Shi,' mistakenly turning his name into a joke.
Called a fool for love, "Thinking of Spring," he was mocked until his fists silenced them.