LUO FAN
— ✦ —
To express our gratitude to the villagers, Lan Feng came up with a rather ambitious suggestion—he wanted to help construct a new wharf for the fishermen, one that would make it easier to unload and sort their catch. Not only that, but he also volunteered to build additional boats to replace those that had been destroyed during the Shuiyan attack.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked skeptically over breakfast, setting down my chopsticks. "Do you even know how to build a boat?"
Across from me, Lan Feng beamed, clearly amused by my doubt. He took another bite of salted fish, then leaned forward with a smug little tilt of his head. "Gege, you underestimate me far too often," he said, tapping his bowl lightly with his spoon. "Let me tell you something. The Lan family in Gamani owns the largest fishery in the entire Silang Empire."
That made me pause.
He continued without missing a beat, clearly enjoying the moment. "When my parents got married, my father expanded the business north to Hanyue. By the time I was five, we had over thirty large fishing boats. And those boats needed constant maintenance. So while my brothers were off studying politics and poetry, guess who got dragged into carpentry and repair work?"
"You?" I asked slowly, still trying to picture it.
He grinned, clearly pleased. "Yes, me. From a young age, I was taught how to fix broken hulls, mend nets, oil wood, and identify rot. My father didn't believe in idleness. By the time I was twelve, I was already repairing boats on my own. And when I was fifteen…" He sat back with a look of mock grandeur, "I built my first full-sized fishing boat—no assistance."
My jaw slackened as I stared at him in stunned silence. For a moment, I couldn't reconcile this revelation with the image I held of Ruan Yanjun—the haughty, black-robed sect leader who looked as though he'd never so much as lifted a finger for menial labor, let alone tolerated the stench of fish. That this same man had once been steeped in the world of fisheries and carpentry felt almost surreal, like a tale spun from drunken gossip.
"Gege," he added, eyes twinkling with that rare youthful mischief, "I'm going to build two boats. Twin vessels. And I'll name them after us."
I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped me. "There's really no need to do that. You know fishermen usually prefer giving their boats female names for good luck, right?"
He waved that off with a flick of his chopsticks. "They won't mind. Not this village. The chief already thinks you were sent by the heavens. They all do. They call you the blessing from the sea, remember? You and I… we've become part of this village. I'm sure they'll be honored to have boats named after us."
I shook my head, still smiling despite myself. "Alright, alright. Let's ask the chief first before we carve our names into anything. When do you plan to start?"
"Tomorrow," he said with a gleam in his eye. "After my morning swim with Hong'er."
Of course. I should've known that even his boatbuilding schedule had to wait until after his daily race through the waves with the boy he'd befriended so easily. In a way, Lan Feng had become part of this village too more deeply than he realized.
The next day, after receiving Chief Li's approval, Lan Feng wasted no time. He rose before dawn and went straight to the site with a purposeful stride. The villagers, always eager to lend a hand, joined in enthusiastically. While Lan Feng focused on designing the new boats, I assisted with the construction of the wharf. The entire village seemed to breathe with a new energy, as if the very idea of building something enduring brought everyone closer together.
Men and women, young and old, all took part. Some gathered planks and driftwood from the shore or nearby forests, while others hauled stones, tied ropes, or secured posts deep into the sand. Children fetched nails and tools, darting between the workers with wide-eyed fascination. Lan Feng, though still quiet and reserved, worked with tireless intensity. His concentration was unwavering, and he approached every task—from blueprint sketches to wood measurements—with methodical precision. The villagers watched him with awe, whispering among themselves about his craftsmanship. Though he spoke little to anyone besides me, they began to revere him not just as a heavenly guest, but as a master builder in his own right.
I handled the raw cutting work. Using a machete, one of the few tools in the village sharp enough, I chopped wood into uniform segments. It was far from ideal. A cultivator's blade would have made cleaner, quieter work of it. But with no swords among the villagers, I relied on martial arts techniques to channel force with each stroke, making the machete cut as sharply as steel. Lan Feng would occasionally glance over to check my progress, offering a small nod of approval before turning back to his own tasks.
For two weeks, we lived like that—sweating under the sun by day, sleeping side by side in exhausted silence by night. Lan Feng's hands grew calloused and brown from the labor, his cheeks streaked with sawdust by noon each day. And yet, he never once complained. The villagers quickly grew fond of him, especially the older craftsmen who recognized his quiet diligence. They began bringing him fruits, snacks, and even handmade tools to aid in his work, as though they, too, wanted to be part of something bigger.
The wharf came together faster than anyone anticipated. The wooden platform extended proudly into the sea, supported by pillars sunk deep into the sand and braced with thick cords of rope. At the same time, four new fishing boats neared completion under Lan Feng's guidance. He supervised the team with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. And true to his word, two of the boats were named after us—one bearing the characters for "Luo," and the other for "Lan."
When he revealed this, the villagers were enchanted. They celebrated with an impromptu feast on the beach, roasting fish over open fires and toasting us with sea-plum wine. The children raced each other around the boats while elders sang old fishing songs that echoed against the water.
On the day the final plank was nailed into place on the wharf, Lan Feng brought out a wooden sign. He had carved it himself from driftwood, and the craftsmanship was striking—our names etched side by side in graceful strokes, weather-treated and sealed to last. With careful hands, he nailed it to a beam at the far end of the wharf, overlooking the ocean.
"This is so they'll remember us," he said softly, brushing a bit of sawdust from his sleeve. "Even after we leave, they won't forget the two guests who stayed for a while and helped."
I stared at him for a long moment, the sea breeze tugging at my robes, and felt an unexpected warmth bloom in my chest. In the face of all we had lost, amidst all that had been taken from us, this moment—this simple, human gesture—felt real. It was more than thanks. It was legacy.
And somehow, it felt like home.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The village hosted a grand feast to celebrate the inauguration of the new wharf. That night, the entire square glowed with the golden warmth of torches and the central bonfire, its flames crackling skyward as music and laughter rang through the air. Children darted between tables, their hands sticky with sweet rice cakes. The scent of grilled seafood mingled with the aroma of roasted chestnuts, and the melodic twang of the villagers' string instruments gave the evening a festive, almost dreamlike atmosphere.
Lanterns of dyed cloth hung from poles and trees, their light painting shifting patterns on the ground. The villagers danced in loose circles around the fire, clapping to the beat of hand-drums and wooden flutes. People shared old stories, toasts, and tales of their ancestors' fishing exploits. The joy in the air was infectious, and even I found myself relaxing more than usual, smiling as I accepted bowls of soup and rice wine offered by grinning elders.
Still, beneath the surface of my cheer was the quiet weight of knowing we would soon be leaving. This fleeting joy, like the glow of the bonfire, could not last.
At some point during the celebration, a group of village men approached me, their expressions hopeful and slightly mischievous. They began casually mentioning their daughters—how skilled they were at weaving nets, how deft their hands were with embroidery, how soft their tempers had grown since childhood. It was clear they were trying to matchmake, and though I appreciated their sincerity, I offered them a polite smile and a respectful bow of my head.
"I'm honored," I said, "but I won't be staying long enough to bring happiness to anyone here."
To my relief, they took no offense, clapping my shoulder in good-natured understanding before wandering off to rejoin the festivities. Their daughters, however, were a touch more forward.
A few of them approached me directly, their smiles soft and lashes fluttering, voices tinged with playful curiosity. They invited me to sit with them upon the grass, speaking as though we were already old friends. One shyly offered a flower pin she claimed to have made herself. Another brought a cup of rice wine, her hand lingering a moment too long as she poured. Though their flirtations were lighthearted and sweet, I found myself uneasy—unsure how to withdraw without wounding their pride.
Across the bonfire, I saw Lan Feng watching. His face, normally soft and bright in the glow of firelight, was clouded. His gaze followed every interaction with sharp focus, and I noticed the way his jaw tightened when one of the young women laughed and lightly touched my sleeve.
Before I could excuse myself, he stood up and made his way through the crowd with quiet purpose. Without a word, he came to my side and inserted himself firmly between me and the woman who was still attempting to start a conversation. His arm slid around my elbow, and he rested his head against my shoulder as naturally as breathing.
It was not a possessive gesture born from jealousy or arrogance, but rather a simple, clear message: he's mine—whether as a brother, a guardian, or something more was left open to interpretation.
The women burst into gentle laughter, one even ruffling Lan Feng's hair. "He's scared his gege might get stolen away," one of them teased, her tone indulgent. They were kind, taking his actions as a child's innocent fear, rather than any form of competition.
Lan Feng didn't speak. He just stayed there, his body leaning into mine, quiet and resolute. I glanced down at him and sighed inwardly. No matter how he framed it, whether under the guise of brotherly attachment or otherwise, it was a gesture rooted in something deeper.
The villagers' easy acceptance of our quirks made something twist inside me. They had given us sanctuary, warmth, and friendship, asking for nothing in return. In another life, one untouched by bloodshed and betrayal, this place might have been where I chose to settle. It wasn't just the beauty of the island or the peace in the rhythm of village life. It was the people—their sincerity, their laughter, their kindness.
But that dream would have to wait.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
As we walked back to the cabin under the cool moonlight, I glanced at Lan Feng, who was still sulking.
"What was that all about?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Those women just wanted to talk."
"They wanted to marry you," he muttered, his tone sharp and accusatory.
I couldn't help but laugh, a mix of tipsiness from the wine and genuine amusement bubbling up. "And what if I did get married here? What would you do?"
He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at me, his eyes wide and his face tense. "G-gege," he stammered, his voice catching. "Did you fall in love with someone here?"
His panicked expression only made me laugh harder. "I'm kidding, Feng'er," I said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not getting married here."
He let out a deep breath, visibly relieved. "Gege, you scared me."
"And why should that scare you?" I teased.
"Because if you get married, you'll stay here," he said, his voice small. "And then… you won't take me back home anymore."
His vulnerability tugged at my heart. I smiled gently and squeezed his arm. "Don't worry, Feng'er. Gege will fulfill his promise. I'll take you home."
His face lit up with a smile so bright it was almost childlike. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and began pulling me forward, his steps light and quick.
"What's the rush?" I asked, struggling to keep up.
"It's late, Gege. I'm sleepy," he replied, his voice brimming with newfound cheer.
Before I could reply, my foot caught on an uneven patch of sand, and I stumbled, falling to my hands and knees. "Ow."
In an instant, Lan Feng was by my side, hauling me into his arms as if I weighed nothing. "You're hurt," he said, concern lacing his voice. "And you're too drunk to walk."
"I'm not hurt," I protested, squirming in his grip. "Put me down. It's not proper."
"There's no one around, Gege," he said matter-of-factly, tightening his hold. "And I can't let you fall again."
Despite my protests, he carried me all the way to the cabin. Once inside, he gently laid me on the bed. I immediately sat up, determined to reclaim my dignity. "This is your bed. I'll sleep on the floor."
"The floor is cold," he argued, crossing his arms. "You'll catch a chill."
"That's why I'm sleeping there. You're still recovering—you need the bed."
He hesitated for a moment, then smiled slyly. "The bed is big enough for two. Let's share."
I frowned, knowing full well that if I refused, he'd probably sneak down to the floor later anyway. With a resigned sigh, I relented. "Fine. Let's share the bed."
His smile widened, and without another word, he slipped under the blanket beside me. I turned to face the wall, trying to ignore how close he was.
"Goodnight, Gege," he whispered softly, his voice warm and content.
"Goodnight, Feng'er," I replied, closing my eyes as a strange sense of peace settled over me in his presence.