The scholar's gaze remined study, his blue eyes locking onto the ragged man's trembling form. The crude knife in the man's hand glinted faintly under the starlight, its edge jagged but sharp enough to threaten. The girl's breath hitched, her small body tense as she gripped her rice stick tighter, her eyes darting between the scholar and the stranger. The valley road, clocked in shadow, seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"Coin and robes," the man repeated, his voice cracking with desperation, though his stance wavered. "I – I don't get a choice. You don't know what it's like, living like this."
The scholar's hand rested lightly on the hilt of the concealed dagger, but he made no move to draw it. His expression was as calm as ever untouched by fear by fear or anger, like a still pound reflecting the night sky. "I know more than you think," he said softly, his voice carrying the same measured calmness as before. "But taking from me won't lighten your burden. It only adds to it."
The man's face twisted, a mix of frustration and shame. "Don't lecture me, scholar! You walk around in your fancy clothes, actin all wise, while I'm starving!" His knife jerked forward, a clumsy gesture born of desperation rather than intent.
The girl took a step back, her sandal scuffing the gravel. "Hey, mister, maybe just… just calm down?" She ventured, her voice small but steady. She glanced at the scholar, as if hoping his calm would anchor the moment.
The scholar raised a hand, not in defense but a gesture of peace, his white hanfu sleeve catching the star light. "Put the knife down," he said, not as a command but as an invitation. "You're not a thief. Not yet. And you don't have to be."
The man's arm trembled, the knife wavering. His gaunt face crumpled, torn between hunger and the weight of the scholar's words. "You don't get it," he muttered, voice breaking. "I got a family. Kids. They're hungry. I can't go back with nothing."
For a moment, silence fell, broken only by the soft rustle of grass in the evening breeze. The scholar's eyes softened, though his posture remined composed. He reached slowly into the folds of his hanfu, the man tensing as if expecting a weapon. Instead, the scholar took a small, embroidered pouch, heavy with the clink of coins.
"Here," he said, holding it out. "Take it. Not because you demanded it, but because I choose to give it. Feed your children."
The man stared, his knife still raised, suspicion warring with disbelief. "Why?" he crocked. "Why would you… just give it?"
"Because you're not my enemy," the scholar replied, his voice as clear as the starlit sky. "Hunger is. Take it, and let's part as men, not as thief and victim."
The girl's eyes widened; her rice stick forgotten ass she watched the exchange. The man's hand shook as he lowered the knife, his shoulder slumping. Hesitantly, he reached for the pouch, his fingers brushing the fine silk of the scholar's sleeve. He clutched the coins to his chest, his gaunt face a mic of relief and shame.
"I – I didn't want it to come to this," he mumbled, stepping back. "I'm sorry."
"Go home," the scholar said gently. "And tomorrow, ask yourself what you can do beyond surviving. That's where the path begins."
The man nodded, his eyes glistening, then turned and vanished into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the night. The valley road was quite again, the tension dissolving like a mist.
The girl let out a long breath, her hands finally loosening on the rice stick. "You just… gave it to him." She said, half in awe, half in disbelief. "You didn't even blink."
The scholar resumed walking, his hanfu as pristine as ever, as if the encounter ad been no more than a passing breeze. "I gave him what he needed, not what he demanded," he said. "The coins are nothing. The choice he makes next – that's what matters."
She hurried to catch up, her small face scrunched in thought. "You're really weird, you know that? Most people would've fought or run or… something. But you just… talked and it worked."
He glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Words are sharper than blades, if you know how to wield them, and they leave fewer scars."
The road stretched on, the stars now bright overhead, casting a silver glow over the valley. The girl was quieter now, her earlier playfulness tempered by the weight of what she'd witnessed. But her eyes gleamed with a new kind of curiosity, as if the scholar's words and actions had sparked something within her.
As they walked forward under the night sky, the faint outline of a village appeared in the distance, its lanterns flickering like fireflies. The scholar's gaze lingered on the lights, his expression unreadable.
"Hey," the girl said, breaking the silence. "You said asking questions is how you got out of the dirt. What's the first question I should ask?"
The scholar paused, his blue eyes reflecting the starlight. "Ask yourself this, what do you want to see when you look at the world? Not what others tell you to see, but what you choose."
She nodded slowly, chewing on her rice stick again, her young mind turning over the puzzle, its warmth beckoning, but the road still stretched beyond, into the unknown.
The village lanterns grew brighter as the scholar and the girl drew closer, as their warm glow cutting through the cool night air. The valley road widened slightly, its gravel giving way to packed earth worn smooth by countless feet. Low, thatched rooftops huddled together, their edges softened by starlight and the faint murmur of voices carried on the breeze – laughter, a baby's cry, the clatter of a late meal being prepared. The girl's eyes sparkled with curiosity, her earlier pensiveness giving way to renewed energy as she scanned the village ahead.
"Looks cozy," she said, popping the last bit of her rice stick into her mouth. "Bet they've got dumplings or something. You hungry scholar?"
The scholar's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Hunger is a teacher, not a master," he replied, his voice calm but tide with a hint of amusement. " But I suspect you're thinking more of dumpling than my words don't you?"
She grinned, unashamed. "can't think clearly on an empty stomach, right? You said clarity's the big deal."
He inclined his head, conceding the point. "Fair enough. Let's see what this village offers."