In the autumn of the twenty-third year of Wanli, the backyard of the Qintian Supervisory Office on the outskirts of Beijing was always a bit colder than elsewhere. The eldest grandson, Daye, held the astrologer's attendance book that he had just sorted out and stepped on the fallen ginkgo leaves on the corridor. The sound of his footsteps was particularly clear in the silence. Three years after she joined the company, she went from being a newcomer who was initially intimidated by star charts to now being able to remember exactly the schedules, leave requests, and equipment wear and tear of twenty-three astrologers. She did not rely on any talent, but her sincerity to "treat the stars as colleagues."
"Assistant Changsun," the old astrologer who was checking star orbit data suddenly looked up, his eyes behind the lenses were astonishingly bright, "There is an alien invader in Ziweiyuan tonight, you..." Before he could finish his words, a dazzling white light suddenly cracked in the sky, like someone splitting the night with a giant axe. Changsun Daye felt a strong suction pulling her forward. The books in her arms were scattered on the floor, and the papers were swirling in the strong wind, and finally they fell into the white light with her.
When he opened his eyes again, his nose was filled with the smell of mutton and charcoal fire. Changsun Daye sat up suddenly and found herself lying on a pile of rough felt blankets, covered with a leather robe embroidered with a wolf totem. The weight made her arms ache. Looking around, in the low tent, copper lamps were burning with dim light, and several men wearing suede leather boots were chatting and laughing around the campfire. She could not understand a word of what they were saying, but inexplicably felt that the tone of voice had the roughness unique to the prairie people.
