The morning sun rose earlier than usual that week, or so it seemed. The entire Anning Village buzzed with life — a rare hum of excitement that even the sleepy chickens couldn't ignore.
It was the season of the First Harvest Festival — a day when the people thanked the spirits of the land, offered gifts to the mountain, and celebrated another year of peace.
For most, it was simply a day of joy.For Achu, it was a reminder — that peace was built, not granted.
Preparations Begin
"Chen! Ran! Have you checked the stream gate? If it overflows again, the lower field will flood!"
"Yes, Mom!" came the twin voices in reply.
Achu wiped her hands on her apron and looked over the village square. Wooden stalls were being assembled, their roofs thatched with bright straw and wildflowers. Smoke drifted from the blacksmith's forge as he hammered new decorations for the gates. Children ran about with ribbons and bells, their laughter echoing down the slope.
The festival only came once a year, but this time was special — the new trade route had finally opened.
Merchants from the southern valley would arrive by afternoon, bringing spices, silk, and trinkets unknown to most villagers. In return, Anning would offer its famed dried boar meat, herbal medicines, and handwoven baskets.
Achu had worked quietly for months to make this route possible. The path had been dangerous — overgrown, unstable — but she and a few trusted cultivators cleared it under the guise of "land expansion." Few knew that her spiritual energy still lingered in those stones, keeping the passage safe.
The Village Comes Alive
By midday, the square was transformed.
Colorful flags fluttered from poles; garlands of marigolds and mountain lilies hung across the stalls. The scent of roasted corn, sweet rice cakes, and grilled fish wafted through the air.
Achu's stall stood near the center — simple, neat, but filled with life.
Baskets of fresh greens and herbs lined the front, each tied with a little red string. Behind them sat jars of pickled vegetables, smoked meat, and powdered medicines. Her calligraphy on the labels was delicate, almost noble — though few realized that.
Fei sat nearby on a woven mat, playing with a wooden duck toy. Ran was arranging the jars by size, and Chen was tending the small brazier they used to keep the food warm.
"Mom," Chen said suddenly, squinting toward the road, "are those… outsiders?"
Achu followed his gaze.
A line of wagons rolled into view — painted in rich colors, their wheels creaking over the dirt path. Men and women in travel robes led donkeys and horses laden with goods.
The new merchants had arrived.
The Traders of South Vale
The village chief, old Master Peng, hurried to greet them, his round face red with excitement. "Welcome, welcome to Anning Village! The festival is just beginning!"
The leading merchant, a tall man with a trimmed beard, bowed with practiced politeness. "It's an honor, Elder. We've heard of your valley's harvests — and your people's hospitality."
Achu watched them quietly as they exchanged formal greetings. Her eyes lingered briefly on the wagons. The seal carved into the crates — a twin-dragon insignia — stirred a faint recognition in her chest.
That crest belonged to a trading guild once tied to the Royal House of Zhuang.
She hid her reaction with a calm smile and turned back to arranging the herbs.
Whispers of the Past
The festival grew livelier by the hour.
Music filled the air — a flute and drum ensemble from the younger villagers — and laughter mingled with the clatter of cups and dishes. Dancers in bright robes spun in the center of the square, their sleeves trailing like petals.
Achu sold her goods steadily, chatting kindly with villagers and travelers alike.Ran handed out small wrapped sweets, Chen demonstrated how to grind dried herbs, and little Fei stole everyone's attention by offering flowers to strangers.
"Such a clever little girl," one merchant lady said with a smile.
"She looks just like her mother," another murmured.
Achu only laughed softly. "Ah, I'm just her guardian. Children here grow beautifully because of the land."
But one of the merchants — a young man with sharp eyes and a quiet demeanor — lingered longer than the rest. He studied Achu's face, her posture, the faint golden thread embroidered on her sleeve.
That thread was not something commoners wore. It was a symbol of rank, of birthright.
When their eyes met, Achu saw the flicker of recognition — and something else — in his expression.
She smiled politely. "Enjoy the festival."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, bowing slightly. "You… remind me of someone from the capital."
Her fingers paused briefly on the herb basket. Then, smoothly, she tied another red string. "Many faces look the same under sunlight."
The merchant hesitated, then nodded and walked away.
Evening Lights
As night fell, the village shimmered with lanterns.Children chased fireflies along the path, their laughter lighting the dusk. Music rose from the square; elders clapped to the rhythm; the smell of sweet rice wine drifted through the cool air.
Achu stood near the edge of the crowd, Fei asleep in her arms. Chen and Ran danced clumsily nearby, their joy bright and unguarded.
For a moment, everything felt still — perfectly peaceful.
But her gaze drifted once more toward the dark outline of the forest.And there, faintly, she sensed them again — watchers. This time, not hostile, not probing — simply waiting.
She looked back at the glowing village and smiled faintly.
"Let them wait," she whispered. "This land will never bow again."
The Promise of Tomorrow
When the last lanterns flickered out and the merchants settled for the night, Achu sat alone by her small stall, tying the final red string on the last jar.
The trade route had opened.The world was moving again.And soon, the world might remember her name.
But for now, she chose silence — and the soft lullaby of crickets in her fields.