New Ming Calendar, Year 7, Spring.
In the remote mountains of western Sichuan, far from the main roads and far from the reach of ordinary travelers, Flat Rabbit arrived alone after a long journey across ridges and valleys, his figure cutting a solitary path through terrain that most people would never even attempt to cross.
Less than a year had passed since he stepped down from his position as Chief Minister, yet the man who now walked into this forgotten corner of the world looked nothing like a former high official, because he wore simple jianghu attire suited for travel and hardship, with his ancestral sword hanging at his waist and a heavy pack slung across his back, carrying everything he believed these people might need.
The village he had come to was known as one of the poorest in the region.
Poverty in such places was never just about lacking food or money, but about distance, isolation, and the quiet reality that help rarely arrived, because even those who wished to help often could not reach it.
But Flat Rabbit had come anyway.
At the entrance of the village, a small girl stood staring at him, her face smudged with soot so that only her bright eyes seemed alive, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and fear as she looked at this stranger who had appeared out of nowhere.
Before she could say anything, a woman rushed out from a nearby grass hut, scooped the girl into her arms, and retreated back inside, shutting the door with hurried force as if the outside world itself were something dangerous.
Flat Rabbit did not react with annoyance or impatience, because he had seen such reactions many times before, so he simply walked up to the door and knocked gently, making sure his voice carried calm rather than pressure.
"Elder sister, I am a volunteer. I came to help your village. You do not need to be afraid."
From inside the house came the woman's voice, tense and defensive.
"My husband is working in the fields nearby. He is very capable."
Flat Rabbit could not help but smile at that, understanding immediately that she was trying to warn him away, and he shook his head slightly before speaking again in a tone that remained patient.
"I am not here to cause trouble. I only came to help. Wait a moment, I will leave something for you."
He removed his pack and took out a sack of rice, placing it carefully in front of the door, then stepped back several paces to give them space before speaking again.
"Please take a look. I have left a small gift."
The door opened just a crack, and a hand quickly reached out, grabbed the sack, and pulled it inside before the door shut again.
Time passed.
Then, slowly, the door creaked open.
The little girl ran out first, her earlier fear already gone, replaced by excitement.
"Wow, uncle, you are a good person."
The woman followed more cautiously, her expression still guarded but no longer closed.
"Thank you for the rice."
Flat Rabbit did not step inside but simply sat down near the doorway, taking out more food from his pack and handing it over, watching as the woman and the child accepted it with gratitude that was both simple and sincere.
"Call everyone in the village," he said. "I brought enough to share."
The woman's face lit up with surprise and joy.
"I will go right away."
She had barely taken a step when the world itself seemed to break.
A deep rumble rose from beneath the earth, followed by a violent tremor that shook the ground with terrifying force, throwing her off balance as she fell hard onto the ground.
"An earthquake," Flat Rabbit said, his expression changing instantly. "This is bad."
He reacted without hesitation, lifting the little girl into his arms while pulling the woman back to her feet, his voice rising with urgency.
"Run. Move to open ground."
All around them, the village began to collapse.
Grass huts crumpled easily, their damage less deadly, but wooden and stone structures shattered with far greater violence, and from within them came cries of fear and pain as people struggled to escape.
Yet the collapsing buildings were not the worst of it.
In the mountains, earthquakes often brought something even more dangerous.
From the surrounding slopes, rocks began to fall.
At first a few.
Then many.
Then too many to count.
Flat Rabbit moved as quickly as he could, placing the mother and daughter in the widest open space at the center of the village before turning back without pause, rushing toward a collapsed wooden structure where he forced his way under a fallen beam, straining with all his strength to lift it just enough to drag a trapped man out.
"You, you, and you," he shouted at several young men who were still able to move. "Stop running aimlessly and come help me."
There was something in his voice that left no room for hesitation, and the young men responded almost instinctively, gathering around him as they began pulling survivors from the wreckage under his direction.
The ground continued to shake.
The air filled with dust and cries.
Flat Rabbit moved from one place to another without rest, digging through debris with his hands, dragging people out from beneath collapsed walls, pulling others from shallow pits where they had been buried by falling earth.
Under his relentless effort, more and more villagers were brought to the open space, until most of the survivors had gathered there, their injuries varied but their lives preserved.
At last, the trembling subsided.
The earthquake passed.
What remained… was ruin.
The village was gone.
And worse still, the only path in and out had been completely blocked by landslides, sealing them inside as if the mountains themselves had decided to close their grip.
The villagers looked at Flat Rabbit.
Not as a stranger anymore.
But as something else.
Someone they could rely on.
Flat Rabbit studied the blocked road, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed the situation, already understanding the difficulty, because landslides like this created unstable masses that could collapse again at any moment, making excavation extremely dangerous.
The villagers were few.
Many were injured.
Hope, under such conditions, could disappear quickly.
But Flat Rabbit did not allow that to happen.
"Once the aftershocks stop," he said firmly, "we clear the fallen houses and gather whatever food remains. Mix it with wild vegetables, bark, roots, anything edible. With what I brought, we can last for a while if we ration properly. Treat the injured with herbs and hold on."
He paused, then added in a steady voice.
"I will cross the mountain and bring back a rescue team."
The villagers stared at him in shock.
"You will cross the mountain now?"
"It is too dangerous. The slopes could collapse again at any moment."
Flat Rabbit laughed, the sound carrying a confidence that felt almost reckless.
"A landslide like this cannot kill me. This Rabbit Lord's sword shines cold across the land, and my blade's energy spans thousands of miles. Climbing a mountain is nothing."
The villagers looked at the sword at his waist, at the certainty in his expression, and something inside them chose to believe.
Under their watchful eyes, Flat Rabbit stepped toward the slope.
A rock came tumbling down from above.
He shifted lightly and avoided it with ease, then turned back with a grin.
"You see, something like that cannot touch me."
"Impressive," the villagers murmured.
Then, without warning, another stone struck his shoulder with a heavy thud.
This time, he did not avoid it.
His body dipped from the impact, pain spreading through half his frame, but his expression did not change, and he let out a laugh as if nothing had happened.
"That one was dispersed by my internal energy. It cannot harm me."
"Rabbit Lord is mighty!"
They believed him.
Because they needed to.
Flat Rabbit understood that better than anyone.
If he showed fear now, their hope would collapse.
So he did not allow even a trace of hesitation to appear.
"This Rabbit Lord is off."
He climbed.
Using both hands and feet, moving quickly but carefully, advancing step by step as rocks continued to fall around him, each movement carrying risk, each step taken with no guarantee of safety.
From below, the villagers watched in silence.
He moved like a large, stubborn rabbit, scrambling up the slope, sometimes leaping, sometimes clinging, sometimes slipping but never stopping, his figure awkward at times yet unwavering.
At last, he reached the summit.
He turned back once, standing at the highest point, raising his hand toward the village below as if to say something, but his words were lost to the wind.
Then, without hesitation, he disappeared over the other side.