A plume of white smoke rose into the air like a ferocious tide, creating a miasma between the setting sun and the man behind the pipe. He observed the silhouettes of the fishermen in their rowing boats on the expansive bay attempting to catch whatever might be left in the browned water. Reeds stuck out of the coast like closely-bunched toothpicks everywhere, leaving very little room to enter the water past a few designated areas. Beachhead was unseen — you were either in the water or on dry land. He appreciated the beauty laid before him for a quick moment and took another puff on his pipe, then handed it to the man beside him.

As the smoke rose, the fishermen came back to the reeds, carefully threading their way through the dense packings and onto the grass where they could lay down their sopping vessels of commerce. Many carried their trophies with them — mostly catfish, but also the occasional carp or exotic creature that would sell for a little bit more than average in the market. No man went home hungry, at least, and if they did, they could always turn to the ever-abundant stores of the monastics, which were receiving a fairer share of their foodstuffs from the foothills of Popa itself for a few dozen weeks now.

The chittering of cicadas grew more present as the banter of the fishermen disappeared. The two men sat on the porch of their legged hovel until the sun set, then packed up and went inside to celebrate the day of nothing with sleep.

Min integrates the peaceful provinces of VN105, 104, 106, and 109