Chapter 1: The solitude of the road - Part 3

I crossed my arms, watching her reaction. As always, she returned to staring out into the void, as if there was nothing more to say. That’s who she was: silent, resolute, always ready to ignore my brilliant commentary on 80s television.

I prepared to push the car while she sat in the passenger seat, watching me without much enthusiasm. At least she didn’t protest again.

“You know,” I commented as I pushed, “sometimes strength isn’t everything.”

Mi Fan didn’t respond. She just watched me from inside the car, arms crossed and that same serious expression as always. I suppose, for her, there was nothing more to add.

Perhaps she was waiting for me to eat my own words and ask for her help, but of course, that wouldn't be necessary.

But for me, there’s always something more. And as I pushed, I felt a faint hum from the ground stone, like it was regaining a fraction of its energy. I only felt it for a second, and then it was gone.

I decided a bit of music wouldn’t hurt while I worked.

“Didn’t you want some music?” I said, then sang out one of my favorites: Happy Days. The melody echoed down the empty road, my voice carrying the chorus into the wind. “Sunday, Monday, happy days…”

From inside the car, Mi Fan covered her ears, clearly annoyed. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my song choice or because I wasn’t letting her help, but something told me it was the latter. I could see the pout on her face in the sideview mirrors, even though she was trying to hide it.

Truth be told, I didn’t need her help. I could push the car all the way to town if I had to. But we knew better. Sometimes, you have to do things right. And right meant sharing the load. Even if it was only symbolic.

After a while, I faked an exaggerated groan, letting out a theatrical gasp that—I'll admit—didn’t showcase my best acting skills. But it was enough to make Mi Fan turn, her serious eyes still fixed on me with that look that blended frustration with a touch of resignation.

“I think I’ll need your help... Mi Fan, my great bodyguard,” I said, gesturing dramatically and inviting her to get out of the car.

She hopped out with agility, her tail swishing back and forth like a pendulum. Her expression was still stoic, but I could tell her foul mood was beginning to fade. I could read those small gestures, even if Mi Fan never showed much on her face.

We both positioned ourselves behind the car. Mi Fan, more serious than ever, prepared to push with all her might. And though her face didn’t change much, I could sense she was feeling more comfortable now, more in her element. Maybe the car didn’t matter much, but the idea of being useful, of taking action... that’s what mattered to her.

“On three,” I said, taking a deep breath, though I didn’t really need it. “One, two, three...”

Together, we began pushing the car down the road, slowly but steadily. Mi Fan pushed with force, her tail moving with more rhythm now, and though she wouldn’t admit it, I knew she was in a better mood.

After a short while, we came upon a small service station. It was a rundown place, surrounded by rocks, old tires, and a puddle of oil that seemed permanently soaked into the ground. The air smelled of burnt metal and grease—a familiar aroma that, honestly, Sherry would’ve handled better than I. Despite years of hearing about Mahayan engineering, I still couldn’t say I fully understood it.

The station looked like it was put there to help travelers like us, stuck on the winding roads between towns. Worn down, but functional, as if no one had touched it in years, yet always ready for when it was needed.

“Hello, is anyone here?” I called, peering through the small service window, hoping someone would appear.

Suddenly, a large bear covered in grease emerged from some dark corner, wearing poorly fitted overalls and sporting a look that didn’t invite conversation. He didn’t say a word. He just walked over and stared at me with his small, shiny eyes.

I stared back, unsure of what to expect. Then Mi Fan looked between us, silent as always, observing everything like she was in the middle of some cosmic chess game only she knew the rules to.

The tension was thick, so I did what any sensible person would do in that situation: I started singing Happy Days again.

At first, the bear remained silent, but then, to my surprise, he started grunting along to the tune. I knew it. No one can resist a good song.

“Hi, I’m Shery, and this here is my little protégé, Mi Fan. Our car’s broken down,” I said, opting not to give too much information about ourselves. Not that Manipura was particularly dangerous, but it’s always better not to talk too much.

The bear didn’t respond immediately. He just walked slowly over to the hood, opened it with one large paw, and glanced at the ground stone inside. He gave it a few shakes, like someone testing a half-empty bottle, then shoved it back in place with a solid thud. I suppose you didn’t need to be an engineer to fix things out in these parts of Manipura.

“The car’s dead,” the bear said, staring into the distance. “It’s the town. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

He said it with such conviction, as if dead cars were a common occurrence here, some sort of routine event.

“Where are we, exactly?” I asked, glancing around for any maps or signs. The important thing was knowing if we were close to Hemlock Ridge. “We’re looking for Hemlock Ridge.”