The next morning arrived with a light mist hanging over the village, the fields shrouded in an early fog that seemed to blur the lines between earth and sky. The air was fresh, and the scent of dew on grass filled Zhenyuan's lungs as he stepped outside, ready to begin another day of work. His hands still tingled from the chores of the night before, but the routine felt comforting. Today was no different from yesterday—or so it seemed.
The small village of Xiangnan sat nestled in the valley between two low mountains, isolated from the world by dense forests and rugged hills. Life here moved at a different pace than the outside world. The villagers did not worry about the troubles of the greater kingdoms or the rise and fall of empires. Instead, they cared for their crops, their animals, and their families. There was an unspoken bond of mutual respect, a community forged by hard work, shared meals, and the occasional evening gathering around a fire.
Zhenyuan made his way to the village square, the cobbled paths winding between simple thatched cottages and the humble shops of the villagers. The village was small—only a few dozen families—but each person had their own story. Every face, every wrinkle, carried with it a history. And Zhenyuan had known many of them since he was a child.
To his left, the blacksmith, Old Wu, was already hammering away at the forge, the rhythmic clang of metal echoing through the morning air. Old Wu's skin was dark from years of exposure to the fire, and his broad shoulders were hunched with age, but his eyes sparkled with a youthful energy that belied his seventy-five years. He had once been a warrior in his youth, Zhenyuan had heard, a protector of a faraway city. But now, all that remained of his past was the strength of his hands and the stories he would tell when the work slowed down.
"Morning, Zhenyuan!" Old Wu called out, lifting his head as he saw the young man approach. "Your father still working the fields? Doesn't seem like he ever takes a break."
Zhenyuan smiled, tipping his head in greeting. "He doesn't. You know how he is."
Old Wu chuckled, the sound like a low rumble. "I do indeed. He's a stubborn one, your father. But I suppose that's why he's kept you all safe for so long. No one can move a plow like Qingshan can."
Zhenyuan gave a small nod, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Qingshan, his father, always seemed untouchable, like a rock that stood strong no matter how hard the wind blew. Yet Zhenyuan had begun to sense that even his father was hiding something—a past that was buried deep. He had always been protective, but was it possible there was more to his reasons? For now, Zhenyuan could only wonder.
As he continued on his way, Zhenyuan passed by Aunt Mei, the village's healer. She was hunched over in her small herb garden, carefully tending to the plants with the kind of patience that only someone deeply connected to nature could possess. Aunt Mei had a quiet wisdom about her, as though she could hear the whispers of the plants and the trees. She was always willing to offer advice or a remedy, but more often than not, her words were simple and profound.
"Aunt Mei," Zhenyuan greeted, pausing for a moment by her garden.
"Ah, Zhenyuan," she said without looking up, her hands deftly picking a bundle of lavender. "How's the family today?"
"We're well," Zhenyuan replied, offering her a smile. "Father's already at it. Jian and I were in the fields early."
"Good," Aunt Mei said, finally standing and giving him a sharp, knowing glance. "Your father works too hard, you know. You should remind him to take some rest."
Zhenyuan's smile faded slightly. "I don't think he listens to me much."
Aunt Mei laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "No one listens to a young man until they've seen the world for themselves. You'll understand, Zhenyuan, when the time comes."
Zhenyuan nodded absently, but her words stuck with him. "When the time comes." What time? He didn't know, but he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change in ways that he couldn't predict. Aunt Mei had a way of saying things that made them feel important, even if they seemed simple at the time.
Turning away from the healer's garden, Zhenyuan found himself walking past Brother Qian's shop, a small wooden structure that sold everything from pottery to baskets. Brother Qian, a quiet and unassuming man, was always working on something—whether it was a new set of bowls or repairing a broken cart. He was well-liked by everyone in the village, known for his calm demeanor and willingness to lend a hand to those in need.
Brother Qian glanced up from his work, giving Zhenyuan a friendly wave. "Ah, good morning, Zhenyuan. How's your father today? Still pushing himself, I imagine?"
Zhenyuan chuckled. "Always. It's in his nature."
"Your father is a good man," Brother Qian said thoughtfully, his hands never stopping their work. "But you're right. He needs to learn to rest. Even the strongest trees need time to grow, not just push forward. Take care of him, Zhenyuan."
Zhenyuan met his gaze and nodded. It was a sentiment shared by most of the villagers. They respected Qingshan greatly. But Zhenyuan often felt as though he were the only one who saw the toll his father's relentless work took on him. There were days when Zhenyuan wished his father would allow himself to relax, to ease into the peaceful life they had all chosen. But Qingshan seemed unable to. He carried a burden, one that Zhenyuan couldn't fully understand.
Further down the road, the Liu family was already preparing their stall at the market, their son Liu Bai playing with a wooden sword in the dirt. Bai was a year younger than Zhenyuan, but he often acted older, his fiery spirit always visible in the way he moved and spoke. He was something of a local troublemaker, always quick with a joke and a laugh, but Zhenyuan had known him long enough to recognize that there was something more beneath the bravado.
"Zhenyuan! You've got to come by later and help me with the stalls. I've got an idea that'll blow their minds this time!" Bai called out with a grin, his wooden sword slashing through the air with all the enthusiasm of a young warrior.
"I'll come by later, Bai," Zhenyuan called back, unable to suppress a smile. Bai's energy was infectious, and it was hard not to be swept up in it.
As he continued walking through the village, Zhenyuan couldn't help but notice the little details that made this place feel like home—the laughter of children playing by the stream, the steady clip-clop of the village's few horses pulling carts to market, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from Grandma Li's bakery. The simple rhythms of life were constant, and in a way, they were comforting.
But as he walked past the familiar sights and sounds, the sensation that something was missing—the sense that something larger, something more important, was lurking just beneath the surface—returned once more.
End of Chapter 2