Chapter 2: A Kitchen with No Fire
The wind carried the scent of wet earth, a soft promise of rain still lingering in the air. SuYun stood in the doorway of the small house, watching the clouds gather over the hills.
The room behind him felt cold, the hearth unlit, as it had been for hours.
He hadn't yet figured out how the fire should be started—he had never needed to know.
A quiet shuffle came from behind him. He turned to see the man standing there, still in his rough linen tunic, his hands calloused and weathered, as if they had seen years of work before this.
Ren Shang didn't say anything at first, just stood there, his gaze faintly drifting to the empty hearth, then to the dull wooden table in the middle of the room.
Su Yun, uncertain, stepped toward the firewood stacked beside the door. He had seen others start fires before, though never with any real understanding.
He was from modern world after all.
But even the previous owner had no memories of this. Looking at the smooth skin of his body, previous owner might be son of a nobel.
He reached for a few dry pieces, his fingers brushing over the rough bark, before realizing he had no idea how to arrange them.
He'd never had to do this himself.
He hesitated, feeling the quiet weight of the room grow heavier.
He could hear Ren Shang moving behind him, not intruding, but still present. Su Yun turned back, catching sight of the man's quiet eyes, unreadable and calm.
"You need kindling," Ren Shang finally said, his voice low and soft, but steady. It wasn't an order, more like a suggestion—a quiet reminder of what was needed. "And something to start it."
Su Yun nodded, though the words felt strange, like they didn't quite belong in his mouth. He had heard such things all his life, but this moment felt different. There was no anger, no shouting, only the soft cadence of a man who didn't ask much but still expected things to be done right.
Ren Shang didn't move to help, just stood there in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking out the light.
...For a long moment, they both stood in silence, neither of them willing to break the stillness.
The weight of it was not uncomfortable, but strange. It felt as if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
Su Yun broke the silence first, his voice quiet, almost apologetic. "I don't know how to start a fire."
It wasn't much, but it was the first time he'd spoken of his own ignorance here. The first time he'd admitted to something he couldn't do.
Ren Shang looked at him, and for a moment, Su Yun couldn't read his expression. It wasn't dismissive, nor was it pitying. Just... something else. A quiet understanding, perhaps.
"There's flint by the stove," Ren Shang said after a moment. "And you'll need a bit of paper—something to catch the spark."
Su Yun nodded again, his hands still hovering uncertainly over the firewood.
He moved to the stove, his fingers brushing against the cool stone, until he found the small, worn box of flint that Ren Shang had mentioned.
He took a small piece of paper from the table—a scrap left over from yesterday—and placed it on the ground beneath the stack of wood.
It wasn't perfect. He could feel his fingers trembling as he tried to strike the flint against steel, failing the first time, then again the second. A few sparks flew, but nothing caught.
Ren Shang hadn't moved, hadn't said anything else. He just watched, his presence steady and unshifting like the walls of the small house.
Su Yun tried once more, his movements slower this time, more deliberate. The sound of the flint scraping against steel filled the room.
A small spark landed on the paper, and for a brief, glorious moment, Su Yun thought it might catch. But then, just as quickly, the flame sputtered and died.
He exhaled, a sound of frustration escaping him before he could stop it.
"You're not used to this," Ren Shang said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. "But you'll learn."
The words were simple, almost too simple to matter.
But something in the way Ren Shang said them made them feel more than they were—more like a promise. Su Yun wasn't sure what to make of it. His chest tightened, a feeling he couldn't quite name.
"Do you know how to make it?" Su Yun asked, his voice hesitant, as if the question was too much. As if admitting his helplessness might somehow make him weaker.
Ren Shang didn't immediately respond, and for a second, Su Yun thought he wouldn't.
But then he stepped forward, his large hands moving to the flint with practiced ease. The next strike was quick and firm, and within moments, a tiny flicker of flame was dancing in the paper.
Su Yun watched, his eyes wide, his breath held. The fire grew, small at first, but strong enough to catch the dry kindling.
Ren Shang adjusted the wood with a few precise movements, steadying the flame.
"There," Ren Shang said, stepping back, his face shadowed but his eyes steady. "That's how you do it."
Su Yun didn't speak immediately. He just watched as the fire began to crackle softly, its warmth slowly filling the room.
He could hear the soft rhythm of the man's breathing, steady and calm. There was something about him, something in the way he moved, that made everything seem simpler, easier.
Not that Su Yun felt any less overwhelmed, but there was a strange comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone in this.
---
The fire crackled steadily, and the room slowly began to warm. The silence between them felt less sharp now, more natural, as though it had always been there.
The man hadn't spoken much, but Su Yun didn't feel the need to fill the space with words. For the first time since he had arrived, the quiet seemed less like something he was waiting for and more like something that could be lived in.
Ren Shang gave him a small, barely perceptible nod, then turned to leave the room, his footsteps light on the wooden floor.
Su Yun stayed by the fire, watching it flicker and grow. He felt, for the first time in days, a small thread of something resembling peace. It was fragile, like the flame itself, but it was there, warming him in ways he hadn't expected.