The Xiao River winds its way through towering mountains before flowing south to north, merging into the Qing River at Qingyun Town, then surging eastward.

The scorching sun hung in the sky like a blazing fireball, pouring endless heat upon the earth as if determined to scorch all life. Not a breath of wind stirred the air, and the blinding sunlight weighed heavily on the once-sturdy tree branches, leaving them drooping listlessly.

The streets of Qingyun Town lay deserted in the afternoon heat. Even the usually lively stray dogs had retreated to shaded corners, panting heavily with tongues lolling. Only the cicadas in the treetops continued their incessant, grating chirping, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

On the steaming bluestone path, a figure pushing a bicycle emerged slowly, his face obscured by the distortion of the heat waves.

With great effort, Liu Rui pushed the bike up a small slope before finally spotting the sign for "Zhao’s General Store." Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he let out a long sigh of relief.

With a hundred pounds of rice wine strapped to the bike, he had pedaled through the winding mountain paths under the relentless sun for over half an hour. Even for a young and sturdy man like Liu Rui, it was exhausting.

The stray dogs beneath the eaves lazily lifted their heads but, unlike their usual barking, merely continued their labored breathing.

"Uncle Zhao, are you home? I’ve brought the wine!" Liu Rui called out as he propped his bicycle against the store’s entrance.

"Coming, coming!" A hearty voice replied from inside, followed by the sight of a middle-aged man in a red tank top emerging, fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan. "Ah Rui’s here!"

By the doorway, Liu Rui efficiently unloaded the two wine barrels, hoisting one in each hand with practiced ease.

Each barrel weighed fifty pounds—no small feat for most, but for Liu Rui, now the pillar of his family, it was nothing.

In moments, he had transferred the wine into the storage vat, swapped the empty barrels, and finished the task in under two minutes.

Zhao Jianxing stared at Liu Rui’s sun-darkened face, struggling to reconcile this rugged young man with the refined top student he once knew at Qing County High School. A quiet sigh escaped him.

"Sorry, Ah Rui—I forgot to tell you earlier, making you trek out in this heat at noon," Zhao Jianxing said, pouring a glass of cool water and handing it to him apologetically.

"No worries, Uncle Zhao!" Liu Rui downed the water in one gulp and grinned. "Can’t let you run out of stock by evening, right? Besides, I’m young—I’ve got strength to spare!"

"How’s your father doing?" Zhao Jianxing, unsure what else to say, steered the conversation toward Liu Rui’s ailing father, Liu Jiahong.

"Thanks for asking, Uncle Zhao—he’s much better!" Liu Rui nodded gratefully, his eyes briefly softening.

Since his father’s car accident six months ago—leaving him with a broken leg—Liu Rui had forfeited his college entrance exams to return home and support the family. The weight of responsibility, the stress, and the outpouring of community support had all become part of his new reality.

"Zhao’s General Store" had never sold Liu family rice wine before, but after hearing of Liu Rui’s plight, Zhao Jianxing had volunteered to stock it, giving the young man a crucial lifeline.

"Here’s the payment—eighty yuan. Count it if you need to," Zhao Jianxing said, pulling the cash from his drawer.

"Thanks, Uncle Zhao!" Liu Rui pocketed the money and stood. "I should get going—got things to do at home."

"Ah Rui, you should really save up for a motorcycle. This bicycle delivery is killing you," Zhao Jianxing called after him, watching as Liu Rui adjusted his straw hat and pedaled off into the sunlight.

"I know. I’m saving for a secondhand one," Liu Rui waved back before disappearing around the corner, his bike moving like an arrow released from a bow.

Liu Rui had once had a bright future ahead of him—a loving family, academic promise, and dreams of university. But a single car accident had shattered it all.

Six months ago, his father, Liu Jiahong, had been delivering goods across the Qing River when a hit-and-run driver struck him, leaving him severely injured. Though villagers had rushed him to the hospital and he had survived, the medical bills—nearly one hundred thousand yuan—had plunged the family into crisis. Even with hospital discounts and rural healthcare subsidies, the remaining debt was crushing for a rural family.

At the time, Liu Rui had been in his final year of high school, a top student with a near-guaranteed path to university. But upon hearing the news, he had quietly packed his books and returned home—not because he didn’t want to study, but because his mother suffered from rheumatism, his father was bedridden, and his younger siblings still needed schooling.

As the eldest son, the burden had fallen on him.

Now, half a year later, he had adapted to his new life.

Every morning, he rose before dawn to steam rice, brew wine, feed the pigs, and tend the fields. Any spare moment was spent delivering wine by bicycle, his days a relentless cycle of labor with no rest.

The Liu family’s rice wine was famous in the surrounding villages—a generations-old recipe that produced a smooth, intoxicating yet non-hangover brew beloved by locals. It had once allowed the Liu family to live comfortably, far above the average farming household. If not for his father’s accident, Liu Rui would never have returned to this dirt-and-sweat existence.

His home was in Shangliang Village, five kilometers from Qingyun Town, nestled against emerald hills and the meandering Xiao River—a place of natural beauty and good fortune.

Historically, the Qingyun-Shangliang route had been part of the ancient Tea-Horse Road, a vital trade artery connecting Yunnan and Guizhou to Southeast Asia. Goods flowed through here, carried by mule caravans over rugged paths to distant markets.

But with the construction of highways and railways along the northern bank of the Qing River in the 1990s, the Tea-Horse Road had faded into obscurity.

Now, Qingyun Town—surrounded by mountains and rivers—had become a forgotten backwater.

The road between Qingyun and Shangliang was a poorly maintained gravel path, dusty in dry weather, muddy as porridge in rain. It was the only link between the village and the outside world.

Thankfully, towering willow trees lined the route, their rustling leaves offering some relief as Liu Rui pedaled, giving him space to think.

The medical bills had drained the family’s savings and left them owing over fifty thousand yuan to relatives—a crushing debt.

In good years, the Liu family’s combined income from farming, pig-raising, and wine-brewing could reach five or six thousand yuan, placing them among the more prosperous households in the area. But fifty thousand yuan? It would take seven or eight years of backbreaking labor to repay.

In rural China, two things could drag a family back into poverty: catastrophic illness or education costs.

Liu Rui’s mother, Zhang Guizhi, had been plagued by rheumatism since her youth, her condition worsening each year. Medical expenses were a bottomless pit.

Meanwhile, his three siblings—one in high school, two in middle school—faced mounting tuition fees.

His father had been saving for Liu Rui’s university education, but now, everything had changed.

"I need to check the fields tomorrow—time to weed. The longan trees in the orchard are fruiting and need water," Liu Rui mused as he pedaled.

...

Since returning home, Liu Rui had naturally taken on the role of family leader, though his inexperience still required guidance from his parents.

"Brother, wait up!" A voice broke his reverie—a familiar, changing-tone shout.

Braking, Liu Rui turned to see his younger brother, Liu Zhi, sprinting toward him from Mirror Lake, a fishing rod in one hand and a small bucket in the other.

The Xiao River was swift in the mountains, but near Shangliang Village, it widened into a serene lake, its surface as smooth as a mirror—hence the name.

Four years younger, Liu Zhi had been named with the hope that he and his brother would grow wise and escape their rural fate through education.

"Shouldn’t you be studying instead of fishing?" Liu Rui scowled at his brother’s flushed, breathless face.

"I took a break. Heard blackfish help wounds heal," Liu Zhi said sheepishly, holding up a sizable catch. "Look how big this one is!"

"Get on the bike. You’re in eighth grade now—no more playing around. Leave the family worries to me," Liu Rui said, voice thickening as he turned away.

Seeing his brother’s acquiescence, Liu Zhi scrambled onto the bike, staying silent.

Still too young to fully grasp the weight of their circumstances, Liu Zhi had nonetheless sensed the sacrifice his brother had made. He’d grown more responsible, helping with chores during holidays to ease Liu Rui’s burden.

The brothers rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.