The gentleman looked at Emily Bennett and slowly introduced himself: “My surname is Young, given name Ethan. Courtesy name Ziran, also known as Kunpeng. I have devoted my life to studying the arts of Yin-Yang and the Five Elements. By chance, I have seen your unique talent and have the desire to pass on my skills. I wish to take you as my disciple—are you willing?”

Emily Bennett wanted to say she was unwilling. He spoke so mysteriously, perhaps he was just another charlatan like Mrs. Wood. Why should she leave home with a stranger? Who knew if he wanted to sell her or use her for alchemy? But when she saw her father’s eager gaze lingering on the bright silver coins on the table, she knew this wasn’t her decision to make. Most importantly, the price this man offered had already satisfied her father.

“All right,” she said calmly.

Only then did Mr. Bennett lift his head and glance at his seven-year-old youngest daughter. The child was thin and small, rarely spoke, but her eyes were exceptionally clear, as if she could see through all the world’s matters.

At this moment, he finally remembered that this was his well-behaved and quiet daughter since childhood.

Although he had resented her at birth, over the years he had at least held her, played with her, and watched her grow up bit by bit. The joy in Mr. Bennett’s heart from this unexpected windfall finally gave way to a trace of genuine guilt.

But what could he do? This year’s harvest was poor, and the family could barely put food on the table. They couldn’t all starve or freeze to death come winter. The son who would carry on the family line certainly couldn’t be sold, so he could only give up one of his three daughters. After all, thirty taels of silver was a fortune in the countryside. Not only could it see the family through this harsh winter, but much could be saved for his sons’ future marriages.

He sighed. “Go to the inner room and see your mother and grandmother.”

Emily Bennett looked at him for a long moment, then turned and went into the inner room.

Inside, her mother and eldest sister were sitting on the edge of the bed, weeping. When she entered, her mother, tears streaming down her face, pulled her close, reached out to touch her head, and looked her up and down, choked with emotion.

Her mother’s palm was warm, roughened by years of labor, gently caressing Emily Bennett’s skin with a tenderness that only a mother could give.

But that was all.

Emily Bennett waited a long time, seeing only the patter of tears, but not hearing a single word asking her to stay. The small hope that had kindled in her heart slowly faded. So she withdrew her hand.

“Mother, I’m leaving now.”

Eldest sister Grace Bennett was wrapping a freshly baked flatbread and a few pieces of clothing into a homespun bundle for her younger sister. Hearing this, she finally couldn’t hold back and burst into tears.

“Mother, don’t sell my little sister. If you must sell someone, sell me instead,” she cried.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” her mother gently scolded.

The crying drew the children playing outside—Henry Bennett, Jack Bennett, and Helen Bennett—who, upon seeing the fragrant flatbread in their sister’s hand, immediately clamored for a piece.

Mrs. Bennett looked helplessly at her crying sons, then at her youngest daughter about to leave. In the end, she tore a small piece from the round flatbread and put it in her eldest son’s hand, then another for the toddler. She pushed away the wailing Helen Bennett on the floor, stuffed the remaining bread into the bundle, tied it up, and hung it on Emily Bennett’s arm.

Grandma Bennett had been bedridden for years. When Emily Bennett entered her room, the dim space was filled with a musty, rotten smell. Emily Bennett still clearly remembered that when she was born, her grandmother, then still strong, had stood at the door with hands on her hips, cursing the street all day and shaming her mother.

But now, perhaps because of old age, upon hearing that she was leaving, the dying grandmother pursed her toothless mouth, shakily fumbled a packet of candy wrapped in red paper from the clay jar by the bed, and forced it into her hand. Who knew how many years the candy had been there—the red paper had faded. Emily Bennett squeezed the red wrapper her grandmother had hidden for so many years and put it together with the half-eaten flatbread.

The whole family escorted Emily Bennett and the “Mr. Ziran” to the door.

After seven years in this world, her roles had changed from daughter, sister, and granddaughter to disciple. But she no longer intended to invest any emotion in being a disciple. Emily Bennett quietly resolved that when she was older, she would find a way to leave the man who wanted to be her master and live on her own.

Ethan Young reached out his hand to her—a man’s hand, broad and strong, neither hot nor cold, with just the right warmth, firmly holding her small hand.

Emily Bennett looked back one last time at the shabby thatched hut and crumbling wall, and the family of seven gathered outside the gate. On top of the wall poked the long neck of a chicken, two pointy fox ears, and a few other curious little creatures.

The slanting rays of the setting sun were at their most beautiful, the colors of the evening clouds rich and brilliant.

Emily Bennett waved farewell to the home she had lived in for seven years, never looking back, holding Ethan Young’s hand as she walked into the depths of the sunset.

Helen Bennett watched her sister’s figure grow smaller and smaller, and finally understood what had happened.