The road back to Anning stretched under a pale sky, quiet except for the steady rhythm of hooves and the whisper of the wind through the reeds.Achu kept her cloak drawn close, her eyes fixed on the distant outline of the village — smoke rising thinly from the chimneys, too even, too still.
Lin rode beside her, gaze scanning the trees.Neither spoke for a long time.Even the birds had gone silent.
At last, Achu murmured, "Do you feel it too?"
He nodded."The air's wrong. The forest's breathing too shallow."
Her hands tightened on the reins."Then it's not just me."
A Mother's Instinct
When they reached the village gate, Chen came running first — taller now, shoulders broadening, his grin unguarded.
"Mother! You're back!"Behind him, the twins — Ran and Fei — tumbled out from behind a cart, each holding half a woven basket of wild beans.The ordinary sight should have warmed her. Instead, her heart twisted.
Achu dismounted and knelt, brushing her hands through Fei's hair."You've all grown too much in one season," she said, forcing a smile.Then, more quietly, "Any visitors while we were gone?"
Chen hesitated. "Only traders from the east. And... some men said they were herbalists. They bought salt and honey. I didn't like their smell."
Lin's head turned sharply. "How many?"
"Three. They left before sunset," Chen said. "But they kept looking at Fei."
Achu's blood ran cold.
By dusk, they walked the fields together. The paddy stretched in gold waves, ready for harvest, the air thick with the smell of ripening grain.But beneath that — something else.A faint sweetness that didn't belong.
Achu crouched, plucking a single stalk.The roots were pale — too pale — and when she rubbed the soil between her fingers, the grains left a faint white residue.
She whispered, "They planted it."
Lin knelt beside her. "The spores?"
"Yes. The same strain as the first outbreak — but refined." Her voice grew tight. "They're turning the soil into a host."
They stood there for a long while, the sun bleeding into the horizon, turning the world into rust and shadow.From somewhere far off, a dog barked — short, sharp, then abruptly stopped.
The Hidden Shelter
That night, Lin carried Fei in his arms while Achu moved through the house, checking every latch and shutter.The scent of burning sage filled the air — a quiet barrier spell, disguised as incense.The twins sat cross-legged near the hearth, whispering to each other about monsters and spirits.
Chen stayed awake by the window, his spear laid across his knees.He wasn't a soldier, but he'd learned from Lin — learned enough.
When Achu finally sat beside him, he asked softly, "Are we in danger again, Mother?"
Achu's hand brushed his hair, her smile tired but unwavering."We're always in danger, Chen. But that's why we keep living — so danger doesn't win."
He nodded, pretending to understand, pretending not to be afraid.
Outside, the wind carried the faintest hum — almost like a lullaby.Lin rose, stepping to the door, his eyes narrowing."Do you hear that?"
Achu's face went pale."That's not the wind."
She ran outside, bare feet splashing in the damp soil, her eyes scanning the paddies.In the moonlight, the rice shimmered — not gold, not green, but faintly white, pulsing like veins under skin.
Then, between the stalks, she saw it —a shadow crouched low, human-shaped but wrong, its fingers digging into the dirt as if tasting it.
Achu raised her hand. The talisman on her wrist flared."Lin! They've already breached the field!"
The shadow turned — and the moonlight struck its face.Not beast.Not ghost.One of the herbalist scouts — his veins glowing faintly with pale fungus, eyes clouded and empty.
He opened his mouth.A hiss escaped — soft, wet, inhuman.
And then he fell, lifeless, dissolving into a fine white dust that drifted across the field.
Achu whispered, voice trembling not with fear but fury —"They've started the soil infection again."
Later, as dawn crept up, Achu sat by the waterwheel, watching the mist rise over the stream where her children once played.Lin approached quietly, setting a hand on her shoulder.
"They're not after the village," he said. "They're after you."
Achu didn't look at him. Her reflection rippled in the water, fractured by the current."Then they've made their mistake."
She stood, her face calm, her eyes burning with resolve."If they want me — they'll learn what it means to fight a mother defending her roots."
From the forest edge, unseen, a glimmer of movement — watchers in grey robes, marking her words in silence.