The train rocked steadily along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter almost like a lullaby. Mianmian sat by the window, her suitcase tucked securely at her feet.
Her fingers toyed absently with the hem of her sundress as her gaze swept over the passing scenery — rolling fields, clusters of small villages, and then the distant rise of low green hills.
She had taken this journey many times before, yet this one felt different. Two years had passed since she had last sat across from her master, listening to his lectures, tasting the dishes he crafted, and bowing her head to his gentle scolding. She had grown since then. She had survived betrayal, rebuilt from ashes, and carved out a name for herself in the city.
And yet, she still felt like a girl returning home.
