Another day of work has ended.

As the sun gradually disappeared beyond the mountain’s peak and its rays faded, the fields were enveloped in starlight. The indigenous workers, wearing straw hats, packed up their tools.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Kulu, lagging behind everyone else, casually pulled up a handful of weeds to clean the mud off his calves and the edges of his shoes, rolled down his pant legs, and then caught up with the others.

The path home led through a forest. For those unfamiliar with the surroundings, a first walk would inevitably be fraught with stumbling.

But this path was built by the indigenous workers’ own hands. They knew it intimately, and even in dim light, it did not hinder their progress.

The workers at the front were chatting and laughing, discussing what they might do tomorrow with the light workload.

Someone suggested going fishing by the river—

They had learned from the Leader how to make fishing rods and mastered some fishing techniques. Fishing was an exceptionally charming activity, and the indigenous workers quickly found a unique joy in it.

Someone suggested cutting down a few trees, burning a kiln of charcoal, mixing some white earth and clay to make usable pottery—

Ever since Chen Zhou moved to the factory, the pottery and charcoal kilns on the other side of the mountain, being too far, were assigned to the indigenous workers.

Chen Zhou planned to rebuild a modern charcoal kiln and a high furnace for firing porcelain near the factory. However, the technical content of these two structures was high, and they were still in the design phase.

Before these two large buildings were formally constructed, the indigenous workers’ jobs were quite leisurely. Apart from tending to the fields, fishing, and maintaining roads, there was no heavy work.

...

With more free time available, the indigenous workers shifted their interests to the "Leader’s hobbies."

Just as rural areas often follow city trends, after adopting Chen Zhou’s culture, the indigenous workers unconsciously gravitated towards Chen Zhou, considering everything the Leader did as "fashionable" or "trendy," and eagerly learning from it.

They learned to play Gomoku, chess, to weave rattan, to paint with white clay boards, to make charcoal and pottery...

Among them, those who mastered the most skills and perfected their craft became the objects of admiration for all the indigenous workers.

Like the zebra.

This seemingly burly fellow surprisingly had a pair of skillful hands. Whether in woodworking or pottery making, he did everything with finesse, and he was quite talented in rattan weaving. Indigenous workers who shared this interest always sought to learn a few tricks from him.

Kulu, on the other hand, was the odd one out among them.

He didn’t have many hobbies. Since the sugar mishap, he reverted to being reticent and withdrawn, as if a layer of invisible barrier separated him from the others.

He was always the last one to leave work and the last to arrive for dinner, quietly washing dishes afterward.

In others’ eyes, Kulu was like an invisible man. Though living with the indigenous workers day and night, he left an impression no deeper than a nomadic worker.

Only those indigenous workers who lived in the same wooden hut with Kulu vaguely remembered this taciturn fellow often murmuring about his child, that child still living in "Hell."

Whenever they tasted new food, or saw the Leader demonstrate something novel, or heard amazing stories from Saturday, a peculiar expression crossed Kulu’s face. It was not surprise, nor envy, but a kind of regret.

He regretted that in such a beautiful place, in such a beautiful world, his child and partner could not experience it.

...

After moving to live near the factory, at Chen Zhou’s behest, their accommodations upgraded once again.

From the initial open-air dwelling, to a crude four-person dorm, to a two-person small house, and now to standalone shacks.

Their small wooden houses were not large in area but lined up neatly along the path.

Inside, though small, they were equipped with all necessities.

A small bedroom, a small kitchen, a small dining room, a small living room—all were complete. Living such a life, the indigenous workers’ hearts brimmed with joy.

Whatever others had, Kulu had as well—

Standalone housing was a reward for participating in the factory’s construction. Since he had contributed, he naturally had his share.

...

Kulu’s little home was located at the very edge of the row of houses, the farthest from the factory.

When he got home, other houses were lit up, casting warm yellow light from their windows, leaving his home dark, standing alone in the night, appearing lonely and cold.

Lowering his head, Kulu turned to gaze in the direction of the sea, once again missing his family.

Slowly walking forward, passing one little house after another, hearing the sounds of cooking, sawing wood, or cleaning dishes inside, he only felt the loneliness in his heart grow stronger.

Upon reaching the doorstep, in the shadow under the eaves, Kulu suddenly saw a familiar person.

He asked incredulously, "Teacher Saturday?"

"Shh..."

Saturday put a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet, then lowered his voice to speak to him.

"The Leader wants to see you."

Saying this, Saturday glanced at the other indigenous workers’ homes and asked Kulu.

"Your room has no lights on and no noise. Will others be suspicious?

The Leader doesn’t want anyone to know that you’ve had a private conversation with him."

Kulu thought seriously and provided a negative answer—

He always went home alone, ate some pre-made pancakes, and went to bed early with the lights off. Usually, the light in his room lasted only about ten minutes.