By the time sunlight touched the rooftops of Anning Village, Achu had already been awake for hours. The three strangers she caught the previous night were resting in the old barn near the fields. She'd made sure they had water, blankets, and something to eat before leaving them to sleep.
Now, as the morning mist rolled lazily over the valley, she poured herself a cup of barley tea and stepped outside.
The air was cool and sweet, scented with dew and blooming herbs. A new day — quiet, steady, ordinary.
Yet, under that peace, Achu could feel it — a faint stirring, like the tremor of distant thunder.
"Mom! The sun's already up!" Ran came running from the kitchen, her hair half-braided, flour on her cheeks.
"I can see that," Achu said, amused. "You were supposed to wake Chen, not me."
"I tried, but he said his legs are sore from helping the new family yesterday."
Achu smiled softly. "He's growing fast. Let him rest for another hour. We'll start breakfast first."
She knelt beside Ran, showing her how to flatten dough evenly. Fei sat nearby, banging a wooden spoon against a bowl — her personal contribution to the cooking effort.
The smell of sizzling pancakes soon drifted through the air, mingling with laughter. For a moment, everything felt normal again — as if the world outside their quiet village had never existed.
Later that morning, Achu made her way to the barn.
The strangers were already awake — three youths, no older than eighteen. Their clothes were patched, their faces still drawn from exhaustion, but their eyes held a mix of awe and nervousness as they bowed upon seeing her.
"Thank you for letting us stay the night, Miss Achu," the eldest said. He had soft features and a scar along his jaw. "We'll leave as soon as we regain our strength."
"There's no need to rush," Achu replied. "You can stay until you're well. But I'd like to know where you came from."
The three exchanged glances.
The second — a quiet girl with short hair and a faint tremor in her hands — answered softly, "We came from the south, near Fengya Pass. Our village was… destroyed."
Achu's brows furrowed. "Bandits?"
"Not exactly." The eldest hesitated. "Cultivators. From a sect we didn't recognize. They said they were searching for something — someone — and anyone who didn't obey was cut down."
The faint wind outside seemed to still.
Achu's fingers tightened slightly around her teacup. "Searching for someone?"
"Yes," the boy said. "A woman who left the capitals years ago. They said she was dangerous — that she possessed something forbidden."
For a heartbeat, the world felt too quiet.Then Achu smiled. It was soft, gentle — but her eyes did not match the curve of her lips.
"I see," she said simply. "You must have traveled far."
The youths nodded. They looked at her with gratitude, not realizing that she already knew far more than she let on.
After a pause, she rose. "You'll stay here for now. Work in the fields during the day if you can. Eat with the villagers. You're safe here."
As she left, the youngest whispered to his companions, "She doesn't seem dangerous at all."
But Achu's ears, sharpened by cultivation, caught every word. She smiled faintly to herself.
If only you knew, she thought. If only you knew who built this peace you now rest beneath.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the mountains, Achu walked her patrol again. Fireflies flickered like tiny stars between the fields.
When she reached the outer fence, she paused, gazing toward the forest where she'd caught the three youths. The wind carried whispers — faint, but not from nature. A murmur of spiritual energy, distant yet familiar, brushed her senses.
Someone was watching. Still. Patiently.
Achu turned her head toward the dark horizon, her eyes soft but sharp.
"So the eyes haven't left, huh?" she murmured. "Then let them watch. This village is under my protection."
Her voice was calm, almost tender, but the air itself seemed to still in response — as if even the wind knew better than to defy her.
When she returned home, the children were already asleep. Chen's arm dangled off the bed, Ran's hair covered half her pillow, and little Fei mumbled nonsense in her sleep.
Achu smiled, covering them each with a blanket before blowing out the lantern.
The night outside was dark and quiet, but somewhere in the distance, unseen eyes watched the gentle lights of Anning Village flicker beneath the moon.
And Achu — the girl who had once been a princess, now a mother, a protector — closed her eyes, already aware that her peace was being measured by those who did not understand it.