Courtyard Houses: From Bronze Compasses to Global Reach

Lin Yan spread his divine sense to confirm that no one was around before he used his sword technique to land behind a sheltered earthen slope.

He lightly brushed his fingertips against the jade buckle at his waist, and the flowing cloud robe on his body immediately shimmered with a faint light, like ripples on water, and in the blink of an eye, it transformed into a slightly worn white short-sleeved shirt and a pair of half-new black cotton trousers.

He thought for a moment, then took out the Leica M3 camera he had bought in Hong Kong and a yellow-green canvas shoulder bag from the corner of his storage ring, and hung the camera strap around his neck.

After catching his breath, Lin Yan emerged from behind the earthen slope, looking like a young man who had come to take photos. He picked up his camera and slowly walked along the cracked riverbed, snapping pictures of the dried-up silt cracks, the stranded, dilapidated wooden boats, and the deep pits dug in the distance in search of water.

Lin Yan walked along the dry riverbed for about a mile, then turned a corner and saw a small, thin figure squatting at the bottom of the riverbed, laboriously digging something with a shovel.

He was an old man who looked to be in his sixties, his skin tanned dark by the sun, his back bent like a bow. Every few strokes he dug, he would stop to catch his breath and look up at the scorching sun overhead.

Lin Yan raised the camera to his chest, adjusted the focus, and pressed the shutter to capture the old man and the huge crack in the riverbank behind him. The soft "click" sounded exceptionally clear in the silent valley.

The old man looked up at the sound, squinting his cloudy eyes as he looked over, his face showing the wariness of a farmer seeing a stranger.

"Hello, fellow villager!" Lin Yan put on a warm smile, quickly stepped forward, took out his brand-new press card from his bag, and waved it in front of the old man. "I'm a reporter from Beijing, my surname is Lin. What brings you here...?"

The old man recognized the red stamp on the document, and his expression relaxed slightly. He straightened up, leaning on his shovel, and wiped his face with the towel draped around his neck. "I'm digging for some water. The river is dry, and the well is almost empty. There's no other way but to try my luck at the bottom of the riverbed and see if any water can seep out."

His voice was hoarse, like a bellows. Only then did Lin Yan notice that at the bottom of the half-person-deep pit dug at the old man's feet, there was only a small patch of murky, wet mud.

"How could the Yellow River just dry up like that?" Lin Yan squatted down, looking at the wet mud, his tone carrying just the right amount of doubt and concern. "I came from the middle reaches, and the water was still quite high over there."

"The middle reaches are the middle reaches, but our downstream..." The old man shook his head and sighed heavily, "I heard that the higher-ups built a dam and blocked the water. Alas, with no rain from heaven and the river cut off, how are we supposed to survive?"

He pointed to a patch of withered cornfield in the distance: "See that? The ground is cracked open. If we don't get water, we won't be able to pay the grain tax this year, let alone earn enough to feed our families."

Just then, a barefoot boy of about seven or eight years old ran over from behind the earthen slope, hid behind the old man, and timidly looked at Lin Yan and the camera on his chest.

"This is my grandson, Gouwa." The old man patted the child's head. "His parents went to work at the reservoir construction site to earn some food. It's just the two of us left to look after this little bit of land."

Lin Yan took a water bottle out of his bag and handed it to the old man: "Fellow villager, have some water and rest."

The old man hesitated for a moment, then took the drink, but instead of drinking it himself, he fed it to his grandson first. Watching the child greedily swallow, the old man's eyes were filled with sorrow: "Comrade reporter, you are a very important person from Beijing, with broad knowledge. Tell me, when will this end?"

Lin Yan remained silent, his gaze sweeping over the cracked riverbed, the withered crops, and the faces of the old man and the young boy, etched with the hardships of life. The Leica camera on his chest suddenly felt heavy.

He put away his camera, then took two still-warm steamed buns from his bag and put them in the old man's hands: "Things will get better. I came here this time to write down everyone's situation so that more people can know."

As Lin Yan left, he looked back and saw the old man bending down again, digging the dry, hard riverbed shovel by shovel. His thin figure looked as small as a speck of dust against the vast backdrop of loess.

He continued walking, but his steps were much heavier than before. He had just used his divine sense to briefly examine the old man's body; it was already showing signs of exhaustion. This cracked earth, wasn't it a reflection of the fate of the people on this land?

He looked up at the sky, the joy he had just felt from the breakthrough in his spiritual realm now replaced by something heavy. On the path of cultivation, comprehending the universe is important, but if one cannot see the "humans" struggling to survive in this world, then this path is ultimately missing something.

As night deepened, the villages downstream of the Yellow River were eerily quiet; not even the barking of dogs could be heard.

Lin Yan's figure flickered, and he passed through the clouds, hovering above the dry riverbed. He closed his eyes, and his consciousness spread outwards like a tide—every inch of land within a radius of 240 miles became clear in his perception: the cracked riverbed, the withered crops, and the villagers who were still frowning in their sleep.

"Fine, consider it repaying a favor to this land." He murmured to himself, and the true essence in his dantian began to surge, gradually turning into a watery blue luster.

Hands form a mudra in front of the chest – Spirit Rain Technique!

At first, it was just a few raindrops, sparsely hitting the cracked earth with soft "plop" sounds. But as his inner energy surged more and more rapidly, the rain gradually intensified. The rainwater gathered into streams, meandering along the dry riverbed.

It's raining! It's really raining!

The first to notice was an old man who had gotten up in the middle of the night. He stood there, stunned, letting the rain soak his thin clothes, and it took him a while to react before he called out shakily into the house, "Quick! Quick, bring out all the buckets in the house!"

One household, two households... more and more candles lit up. The villagers hurriedly brought out water vats, wooden basins, and even earthenware bowls for eating, placing everything that could hold water in the courtyard. The children also woke up, jumping and hopping barefoot in the muddy water. They were scolded by the adults, but they still couldn't resist secretly sticking out their tongues to catch rainwater and drink it.

Lin Yan, above the clouds, grew paler and paler. He felt as if his dantian had been hollowed out, and his limbs and bones were filled with a weak, aching exhaustion. But looking at the river below gradually forming a stream, and at the figures rejoicing in the rain, he gritted his teeth and continued to circulate his true energy.

The rain lasted all night.

As the sky began to lighten with the first hint of dawn, Lin Yan finally gave way, swaying and nearly falling from the sky. He managed to steady himself and looked down—

The murky river flowed slowly through the channel, not exactly turbulent, but it had at least brought this "dead river" back to life. In the fields on both banks, the corn stalks that had been drooping were now standing straight, and the water droplets on their leaves glistened in the morning light.

What pleased him most was that almost every household had filled their water cellars with water, and the basins and jars in their yards were also full. With this water, they could at least last for a while.

He let out a long sigh of relief, dragged his weary body, and disappeared silently into the dawn.

In the village below, the old village chief was leading the villagers in burning incense and kowtowing on the riverbank: "The Dragon King has opened his eyes!"

They will never know that this life-saving rain came from a passing cultivator. And Lin Yan will never know that his efforts that night were quietly changing something.