Extraterrestrial demons invaded; I laid the groundwork eight years in advance.

The twenty-second day after the spiritual energy was restored.

When Gesang Pingcuo pushed open the courtyard gate, the setting sun was just positioned on the western ridgeline, dyeing the entire Qiangtang grassland into a layer of dark gold, like an old cloth.

The gate was made of wood, and the hinges were dry, so it made a long creaking sound when pushed open.

He strode inside, and before he had even stepped over the courtyard wall, he shouted loudly—

"grandfather!"

The sound hit the adobe wall and bounced back.

"Grandpa! I'm home!"

In the courtyard, an elderly man, well past his eighties, sat on the threshold of the inner room and looked up.

He was wearing an old, dark brown Tibetan robe and holding a piece of tsampa in his hand. The black cat at his feet looked up at Gesang, then lay down again.

"Xiao Cuo?"

"It's me!"

Grandpa tried to stand up, his left leg giving way, and he swayed. Gesang quickly rushed over and squatted down in front of him.

"Don't move, I'm coming."

Grandpa looked at Gesang squatting in front of him, stretched out his rough hands, and patted his grandson's shoulder hard.

"You've grown stronger," Grandpa said.

"You're doing just fine too," Gesang said with a smile.

Grandpa's lips twitched, and he patted his shoulder again, as if to confirm that the person in front of him had indeed returned.

"Xiao Cuo," Grandpa said, "What brings you back?"

"My teammates and I are stationed nearby on a mission, and we just happened to be passing by to drop by and see you."

Grandpa then noticed that there was another person standing behind Gesang.

"Hello Grandpa, my name is Li Cheng, and I'm Gesang's teammate." Li Cheng bowed slightly.

Grandpa glanced at Li Cheng and nodded: "Good, good. Young man, come in and sit down."

Li Cheng responded.

Grandpa looked at Gesang again. "You joined the army?"

"Sort of," Gesang paused for a moment, "You know about those rifts and monsters that the authorities announced, right? That's what I'm dealing with now."

Grandpa was silent for a few seconds. "I know, it was announced on the village broadcast. Those things aren't easy to deal with, are they?"

"It's alright, we have a way."

Grandpa nodded and didn't ask any more questions. He lowered his head, slowly kneaded the tsampa in his hand, put it into the wooden bowl next to him, rubbed his palms together vigorously, and then looked up again.

  

"Let's eat," Grandpa said. "Come in and eat, everyone."

He supported himself on his knees, refused Gesang's help, and slowly stood up.

Li Cheng looked at the old man in front of him. He walked with a limp, but his back was straight. He turned and walked into the house.

The room was small, with a tin stove in the center, burning dried cow dung and emitting a slightly grassy heat. Wisps of white steam rose from the aluminum kettle on the stove, slowly dissipating in the dim light.

Grandpa lifted the lid of the aluminum kettle, stirred the butter tea inside with a spoon, ladled out two bowls, and pushed one bowl to Gesang and the other to Li Cheng.

Gesang picked up the cup and took a sip. It was very hot; salt had been added to the tea, and the saltiness melted on his tongue. This was the taste he had been drinking since he was a child.

"This tastes the best," he said. "You can't get it anywhere else."

"Then come back more often," Grandpa said.

Gesang smiled but didn't reply. He was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't know how to respond next.

Li Cheng sat on the other side of the stove, quietly drinking.

"You've lost weight." Grandpa looked at Gesang, his gaze moving from his face to his shoulders and back to his face. "Having trouble eating out?"

"I'm eating and drinking well, and I've even lost weight, so don't worry," Gesang said with a smile.

Grandpa nodded. "How long will you stay?"

Gesang put down his teacup: "I still need to patrol this area later, so I'll stay for at most one night."

"Okay," Grandpa replied, then added another spoonful of tea to Gesang's bowl without saying anything more.

Gesang took a bag of sealed sausages out of his backpack and placed it on the table. "I brought these back from the coast. Please try them."

Grandpa took out a package, turned it over to look at it, then opened it again to smell it. The aroma of oil and spices wafted around the stove. He had never seen anything like it before, turning it over and over as if it were something sent from another world.

He stood up, walked to the rafters, and hung the sausage on an iron hook.

"Keep it for when you come back next time."

"No need to keep it," Gesang said. "This was specially brought for you. I can get food anywhere else."

Grandpa didn't reply. He pushed the hung sausages up a little higher to make the hooks hold them in place more securely.

Gesang watched the action but didn't say anything more.

"Young man," Grandpa turned to look at Li Cheng, "is there enough tea?"

"That's enough, Grandpa, it's delicious." Li Cheng held the bowl steadily with both hands.

Grandpa nodded and sat down by the stove.

The room was quiet for a moment. Gesang's gaze fell on the old painting on the wall—it depicted an elderly man in a Zhongshan suit, with a bright red sun behind him, casting a warm orange-red hue over the entire painting. The paper was yellowed and had been there for many years, but the surface was spotless, showing that it had been wiped frequently.

Next to the painting was a family photo taken when he was seven years old. Besides his grandfather, his parents and grandmother were also in the picture, but they had all passed away when he was young. He looked at it for two seconds, then looked away.

Gesang finished the butter tea in his bowl, then took the bowl and chopsticks away, rinsed them in the water basin, and put them back on the wooden rack.

Grandpa added a piece of dried cow dung to the stove, and the flames leaped up again. The three of them sat around the stove.

When Grandpa asked Gesang about his life outside, Gesang told him a few things he could, and Li Cheng occasionally added a few words. Grandpa listened and nodded.

The light outside the window changed from deep blue to inky black, and then it went completely dark.

Gesang glanced down at the time on his phone.

"It's getting late, you should get some rest."

He stood up, spread out the blanket, and lay down beside the fire. Grandpa also got up, propped himself up on a low stool, lay down on the bed next to him, facing the wall, and pulled his old Tibetan robe over his legs. Li Cheng was already asleep on the other side of the blanket.

The room fell silent. The embers in the hearth flickered in the darkness, making a soft crackling sound.

In the dead of night, the crack alarm on the Apostle panel sounded in the minds of Gesang Pingcuo and Li Cheng.

Gesang sat up, startling Li Cheng awake. They exchanged a glance, neither speaking. They had been working together for over half a month and didn't need any further communication.

The old man in the shop stirred. He opened his eyes, looked at Gesang tidying up, and asked in a hoarse voice, "What's wrong?"

"I have an urgent task to handle," Gesang said. "We have to leave now."

Grandpa didn't stop him.

He propped himself up and slowly rose, his Tibetan robe draped over his shoulders. The pause on his left foot when it touched the ground was longer than during the day, the night chill making his leg even stiffer. He walked to the door, opened it, and the wind rushed in, making his Tibetan robe flutter loudly.

As Gesang stepped out the door, he glanced back at his grandfather. His grandfather stood by the doorframe, one hand on the frame, the other clutching the collar of his Tibetan robe. He looked at Gesang, his lips moved as if he had a thousand words to say, but in the end, he only uttered one sentence.

"Go, don't embarrass the Bodhisattva soldiers."

Gesang nodded, glanced at his grandfather again, then turned and strode into the night.

Li Cheng followed behind, pausing slightly as they passed the doorway: "Grandpa, we're leaving. Take care."

Grandpa nodded.

The wind swept in from the Qiangtang Plateau, carrying sand and gravel that stung my face, and every breath was dry and cold.

Nights in northern Tibet have no transition—as soon as the sun sets, the temperature drops below zero, there are no clouds in the sky, only a dome of stars, pressing down very low, as if you could reach out and touch them.

The SUV stopped at the gate of the courtyard, and Li Cheng got into the driver's seat. Gesang glanced back as he opened the car door—his grandfather was still standing at the gate, his Tibetan robe billowing backward in the night wind.

He paused for a moment, then got into the passenger seat. The headlights came on, cutting through the night ahead, and the SUV drove into the depths of the grassland.

In the rearview mirror, the small, thin figure grew smaller and smaller, gradually disappearing into the night along with the small courtyard.