The record reflects news of that trade as well as of our preparations for the winter to come. Food is still a concern, especially now that we no longer can rely on regular shipments from the township. Our early attempts at trade have certainly been useful in alleviating the problem, but we still have much to do. Along with a small supply of livestock, we’ve also acquired seeds for some root vegetables that are hearty enough to grow in the autumn. When the passes were blown open, we were again given access to the pockets of fertile valleys that our ancestors cultivated. Wild berry bushes and fruit trees have grown there all these years and were in full fruit when we found them, giving us a jump start on our winter supplies. Our hope is that if we can yield a crop of vegetables and grow our livestock in those valleys, we can make it through until spring offers more possibilities.
Today’s record also documents the activities of the pixius. They live openly on the mountain now, sometimes interacting with us and sometimes keeping to themselves. Those of us who still mine give the pixius offerings of metals, and in return we have enjoyed some of the healing that being in the creatures’ presence offers. There have been no new cases of blindness, and those who were starting to lose their vision have progressed no further. To regain the senses fully, however, requires a pixiu’s bonding. So far, only two humans in our village have been chosen for this. I am one of them.
My task in the record today is the kind of work I’ve always dreamed of: I am painting Yin Feng. I was up late last night working on her, and I still feel as though the work is incomplete. I’ve even been given access to special metallic paints, but no matter how many times I go over that rippling, glimmering coat, it just doesn’t seem good enough.
You will drive yourself crazy, Elder Chen tells me, coming to stand by my canvas. It is time for them to take this to the village’s center. You’ve done excellent work.
I sigh and look at my portrait. It’s not perfect.
He smiles kindly. Perfection is an admirable thing to strive for. But so is knowing when to stop.
I take the hint and set my brush down. Thank you, master.
He nods toward the other apprentices as they gather up the canvases. They will take care of this now. You should go on to your posts, both of you.
This last bit is directed to me and Jin Luan, who is painting nearby. She is the other human who was chosen by a pixiu, the only other human—so far—to have her hearing restored. It is something I’m still coming to terms with. Despite our past rivalry, I am happy that such a great thing has happened to her. And it isn’t lost on me that Elder Chen’s two apprentices are, as far as the pixius are concerned, the most visually minded of us all. It reflects well on him, and I know he is proud, maybe even a little wistful.
But there is a selfish part of me that hopes those I am close to—specifically Zhang Jing and Li Wei—will be chosen by pixius too. I want them to share this journey of hearing with me, to understand what it’s like to have all our senses restored. So far, the rest of the pixius are taking their time in choosing humans—if they ever will. I try not to be impatient, knowing it is a special and honored relationship that not everyone is ready for. And for pixius, who live much longer than humans, there especially seems to be no rush.
Jin Luan and I bow to Elder Chen and then leave the rest of our peers to transport the canvas. She and I step outside into the crisp autumn day, which is still cold but bright with the promise of sunshine. As we walk through the village, we see others out beginning their days as well. Some are gathering and waiting to see the record before going to work. Others, like the gardeners, have already set out on their tasks to make the most of daylight.