Man in the Ark: Revitalizing Kazdel

The blood-red sunset slowly sank into the distant horizon of the rocky wasteland. The tired villagers finished their day's work and returned along the field paths carrying firewood and farm tools.

Grayish-white smoke rose from all over the village, covering the sky above the wasteland, like reed catkins drifting in the wind.

Cut potatoes floated in the boiling hot soup, and crude wooden bowls were filled with bonewood wine fresh from the cellar. Before their husbands and sons returned, the women stopped their work and prepared dinner in advance.

In the open space east of the village, several gray-green tents were firmly fixed to the ground with wooden pegs. A fellow chef in the team was busy preparing dinner for the evening.

In the center of the camp, three bright bonfires dispelled the darkness and cold of the night. The team members sat on their own stone seats, chatting and laughing with each other.

Because today's sacrificial performance was so wonderful, the villagers sent some potatoes as a reward for Weicao's role as the red dragon.

The team sorted the potatoes by size and placed them at varying distances from the fire. Using the residual heat from the flames, they roasted the potatoes. Once the aroma released, they carefully peeled the hot, crispy skin and sprinkled them with salt.

This is a common method of baking potatoes in the rural areas of Tara. Almost all the team members know how to do it. When they were children, they often looked for wild potato plants while herding.

I used the metal knife I carried with me to dig up the soil, dug out the tubers, left some behind, and covered them with soil again. I looked forward to returning to this land and harvesting again.

In the past, when the herders were camping and cooking, they would cut a small piece of potato and bury it in the soil. They would then pour water on it and pile some animal dung on it to help the potato sprout and grow.

The Tara people at that time firmly believed that this was their reward to the wilderness and also a help for future generations.

Those wild potatoes that have successfully taken root and sprouted can provide a small amount of help to those compatriots lost in the depths of the wilderness and forced to wander around. Perhaps they can help them escape the wilderness and find their way home...

Wei Cao was the only one in the group who had only recently mastered this basic technique. Her first attempt at cooking potatoes, she held them too close to the flames, causing one side to char and turn red. Fortunately, she discovered the problem in time, and the other side was still edible.

Previously, Abbrana had served as the shadow of Deep Pool's leader, with someone specifically responsible for taking care of Reed's daily life. She only needed to study hard to become a qualified leader. Her rare free time was basically spent reading various poetry collections.

As a child, Wei Cao loved to hide away in her study, close the door, and quietly read. Her reserved and introverted personality was formed at a young age. Even now that she has formed her own team, Wei Cao never calls herself a leader, believing she isn't qualified to be one.

But his companions did not think so. They were all willing to follow the gentle and powerful Vaifan, because only Reed was willing to respect and treat every Tara person equally.

Even within Tara, there is still discrimination and oppression among different classes of Tara people, just like Victoria did to the Tara people.

There was a middle-aged mother in the team who had lost her husband and child in a mining accident and had unfortunately contracted mineral sickness. When Wei Cao met her, she was kneeling on the ground, begging the mine owner to pay compensation for the mining accident so that she could hold a funeral for her husband and child.

The mine owner learned that the two workers who died were from Tara, so he was only willing to pay one-third of the normal compensation. He knew that all his colleagues did the same thing, so no one would say anything, let alone pursue the matter.

In Victoria, the Tara people were the most despicable and barbaric of inferiors. How could they be compared to the Victorians? Even among Victorians, those who were so poor as to work hard labor as miners were at the bottom of society.

Even if they did not die in the mining accident, these people would die in some dark corner of the city for various reasons.

Who cares?

The miner boss took out a thick stack of Victoria pounds from his worn leather bag, pulled out the most wrinkled ones, and threw them in front of the woman kneeling on the ground with a bit of sarcasm.

The poor woman had no means to defend her rights. She could only lie on the ground, sobbing softly, picking up the discarded money one by one. Filled with resentment, anger, and pain, she returned home alone to prepare for the funeral.

Among the people gathered around her, those who could help her would not pity her. Those who could empathize with her were unable to help her.

When the crowd dispersed, Wei Cao followed and used a relatively peaceful method to repel the thugs who wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to rob.

She and her companions, who had arrived later, held a simple funeral for the woman's deceased husband and son. After the funeral, as Wei Cao and her group prepared to leave, the woman clutched her hand tightly, pleading tearfully.

"Miss Reed, you're not like those Victorians in town. When they ask for help, they just kick me away, spit on me, and curse me loudly."

"I really don't want to go through this kind of life again."

"Now I just want to do something, anything. People like me have nothing to lose anymore."

"If I can bring something to the other people of Tara, I want to do it."

......

Now, the woman who had lost all her loved ones sat among companions who could help and comfort each other, singing the traditional folk songs of Tara in unison. The blazing firelight was reflected in her once gray eyes.

Someone whistled a disjointed melody to accompany the ballad, while someone else clapped their hands to keep the beat.

Small streams combing through the green fields?

We raise a toast to those who are absent?

Wake up with flapping wings, winged beast of the waterside?

Carrying the news of our gathering away with the waves?

Roy, who accepted the invitation to the bonfire event, was sitting by the bonfire with Weicao, clapping his hands to the rhythm.

Although I couldn't understand Tara, I could tell from the smiles on everyone's faces that this was a cheerful folk song.

This land always bears tears, yet we drink the dew and fire of the past?

Winding paths filled with roses and bluebells?

Where to go from here, wanderer?

The mist covering the valley, obscuring her figure as she journeyed far away...?

"You're off-key! You're really bad at singing!"

"Shut up, you're no better yourself!"

"Okay, we have guests tonight, so stop arguing."

Weicao spoke up to stop the two people who were blaming each other, and then explained to Roy in a soft voice.

"Don't think they quarrel over trivial matters, they actually have a very good relationship privately..."

"It's okay. Sometimes, quarreling is also a sign of a good relationship." Roy didn't take the two people's fight to heart. Instead, he was more interested in the reeds beside him.

"Don't you speak Tara? Why don't you sing with them?"

"......Eh?"

"I can't sing well, so forget it."

Weicao turned her head away a little embarrassedly, her fair cheeks flushed slightly in the light of the fire.

"Why don't you teach me a few lyrics and we sing together. I'm sure we won't be able to tell who sings worse."

"Yes, Miss Weicao. Your voice is so gentle, you must be able to sing beautifully." A companion sitting next to Weicao overheard their conversation and came over to encourage Weicao in a low voice.

"......" Wei Cao did not answer, but nodded imperceptibly.

After a moment, a few words of broken and standard Tara mixed in with the crowd's singing, unnoticed. The inexplicable throbbing in the poetic girl's heart, from unknown sources, was like the surface of a quiet lake under the moon, gently stirred by the breeze from the wilderness, creating ripples.

The wind blowing across the desolate limestone?

Bring her a flower for me?

Until the laughter is sunburned by summer?

Only the biting bitterness remains in the bottle?

We raise a toast to those who are absent?

Did we drink the same handful of tears?