Chapter 3: Are the Figures Alive?
The diorama box fell silent for a moment. The broken-down houses in the village opened their doors, and the tattered villagers emerged, circling the flattened bandit figures Li Daoxuan had crushed. They whispered to each other, occasionally glancing up at the sky.
Li Daoxuan sat outside the box, staring at his hands.
His palms were red, stained with the red liquid from the plastic figures.
No, it wasn't red liquid!
His nostrils filled with the pungent scent of blood. Though each figure contained only a tiny amount, after crushing dozens, his palms were thoroughly crimson, and the metallic odor grew thick and acrid.
Now, the villagers huddled around the bandit corpses, whispering amongst themselves, frequently glancing up at the sky. A few surrounded the young woman, questioning her. Their voices were like the hum of ants; unless they shouted, Li Daoxuan couldn't make out a word.
A strange thought blossomed in his mind: "These figures, they're not merely following a predetermined script, are they? The young woman's gaze met mine; she was praying to me just now. And after I crushed the bandits, the villagers' actions evolved with the unfolding situation."
Li Daoxuan earnestly examined the fresh blood on his hands, then lowered his gaze to the figures inside the diorama box.
“These figures have intelligence!”
He quickly rushed to the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands, then returned to the box and peered inside. The villagers were already bustling. They confiscated the bandits' weapons, distributing one to each household, and even stripped the bandits' clothes, dividing them piece by piece among the families. In the yellow earth outside the village, they dug a pit and buried all the stripped corpses.
Next, they wrapped the bodies of the villagers killed by the bandits in straw mats, carried them out of the village, dug several more pits, and buried them. They even chopped a few logs to serve as grave markers.
It seemed no one in the village was literate; not a single word was etched onto the grave markers. Instead, they used knives to carve a few crooked symbols, meant to identify each family's plot.
The young woman knelt before one of the graves, tears streaming down her face, furiously bowing her head several times...
Li Daoxuan watched the figures quietly, observing their busy efforts for a long time—from dusk until dawn, and then from dawn until dusk again. Time within the box had advanced to the second night. The figures had all returned to their homes to rest, and the young woman, too, had gone home, clutching her mother's keepsakes, weeping herself into a deep slumber.
The box was now fixed on a “non-static scene,” but there was nothing particularly interesting to observe.
Li Daoxuan yawned, only then realizing he hadn't slept for two days and a night.
Rubbing his tired eyes, his throbbing temples, he dragged his weary body back to his computer. His mind a swirl of questions, he habitually opened his browser, logged into his usual history and military forum, and anonymously posted: “The figures in my diorama box have suddenly come alive. How should I react?”
“Go see a doctor.”
“Pinch yourself hard; you’ll wake up.”
“Are there any female figures? Watch them change!”
Li Daoxuan: “...”
No one could understand what he was feeling at that moment.
He opened his work QQ, where his boss's avatar was flashing wildly. Clicking it open, he saw that in the entire day he'd spent staring blankly at the diorama box, his boss had sent him several messages: “Still not awake? The client isn’t happy with your design from yesterday; a few parts need revision. Contact me immediately once you’re up.”
“XX person initiated a video call... Canceled...”
“What time is it and you’re still not up? The client is really pressing.”
“Damn it, it’s noon! Are you playing dead?”
“XX person initiated a video call... Canceled...”
“It’s two in the afternoon. Are you going to keep this up?”
“XX person initiated a video call... Canceled...”
“Six o’clock, and still no reply? Damn it, I’m settling your half-month’s pay. Get lost!”
“XX person transferred to you: 2350 yuan.”
Li Daoxuan: “...”
He’d lost his job!
But he wasn’t surprised, nor particularly sad. He’d wanted to quit this rotten job for a long time. Losing it actually felt like a huge relief.
Weariness washed over him. How long had it been since he’d had a proper night’s sleep? He might as well take this chance to rest properly.
Too lazy to even wash up, he stumbled to his bed, collapsed, and instantly fell into a deep, unconscious sleep.
——————
July 12, 2023. Shuangqing City. Summer.
Li Daoxuan awoke the next morning, well past 10 AM.
The headache from his lack of sleep lingered. He habitually opened his computer, then remembered he didn’t have work today. His stomach gnawed at him; he’d spent an entire day foolishly staring at the diorama box without eating a single grain of rice, so it was no wonder he was starving.
Still drowsy, he shuffled into the kitchen, put on some water, and dropped two eggs in.
As his mind slowly cleared, the diorama box affair came rushing back. He bolted from the kitchen into the living room.
The diorama box still sat in the living room. Inside, the figures were all awake and bustling about the village.
Li Daoxuan quickly spotted the young woman. Again, she carried her bamboo basket, searching for grass roots in the yellow sandy earth outside the village...
She had only lost her mother yesterday; she should still be reeling from grief, yet she was already forced to undertake the arduous task of finding food.
Li Daoxuan let out a soft sigh, murmuring, “This girl is suffering so much.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than the young woman abruptly lifted her head. As if she’d heard something, she looked up, scanning the sky above for a few seconds before her gaze locked onto Li Daoxuan's position.
Immediately, Li Daoxuan felt that sensation again: his eyes met the young woman’s.
A direct gaze.
Their expressions were complex.
Li Daoxuan’s eyes held pity and compassion, while the young woman’s were filled with sorrow and desperate pleading.
——————-
Summer, 1627. The seventh year of Tianqi. Gao Family Village, Chengcheng County, Shaanxi Province.
Gao Yiye had lost her mother; she was now completely alone in the world.
But she had no time for grief. There wasn't a single grain of rice at home, and she had to survive, not become a useless wretch who only knew how to weep over her mother's keepsakes.
Early that morning, she rose, carrying her bamboo basket, and with a heart full of sorrow, stepped out of the village.
First, she bowed her head at her mother's grave, then spat at the burial mound of the bandits. After that, she walked on, searching for places where weeds had once grown.
She had searched this patch of sandy ground countless times, and finding grass roots was becoming increasingly difficult.
Her limbs grew weaker and weaker; her body was already swaying, unable to stand steady.
She didn't know how much longer she could hold on. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that—eventually, she would fail to find enough grass roots, too starved to leave the village and forage. Then, she would simply have to wait for death at home.
Just then, she heard a sigh echo from the sky: “This girl is suffering so much.”
That voice... she faintly recalled hearing it somewhere before...
Gao Yiye abruptly lifted her head and saw a young man's face materialize in the clouds. Their gazes met; his eyes, full of compassion and profound empathy, brimmed with emotion.
The young woman knew she was saved. She bowed gracefully once more: “Heavenly Lord, I am so hungry, I cannot go on much longer. I beg of your generous mercy, please save me.”
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