"Hey, are you alright?"
Joseph Qiao stood in the freezing forest, looking into a small thatched hut where a naked boy lay, bruised all over and trembling. He was the slave boy who had hurled a stone at Edward Grant that day.
It had been a month since they arrived at Woodfield. Deep winter had set in, and it was nearly impossible to work during the daylight. Joseph Qiao spoke, squatting at the entrance of the hut—just big enough for one person to lie down. The slave boy lay quietly inside.
"Your forehead is burning."
Joseph Qiao spoke, glancing around, then untied a piece of animal hide from his back and draped it over the boy. His breath fogged in the cold, and his fingers were numb. He gathered some firewood and, shivering, managed to light a fire with a flint.
When he first arrived at Woodfield, he met this boy, forced to labor here. After what happened, the boy was sent straight to the place that needed manpower most.
"Wait here. I'll get you something warm to eat."
Outside the forest lay a vast, flat stretch of land. Though the cold was biting, the tribes and Grant Family members who had come here could only keep building their shelters.
When the people of Jiang Territory left, they dismantled everything here, seemingly on purpose—even the huts meant for living were burned down.
Everything had to start from scratch.