The mist clung stubbornly to the fields that morning, a pale veil draped across the ripening stalks of millet and rice. Dew sparkled on the leaves, and the air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke.
Liang Shen carried a bundle of firewood on his back, his steps steady on the narrow path. Ahead, the villagers were already hard at work. Women bent over the paddies, their voices carrying old folk songs, while children splashed in the shallow streams, chasing minnows with woven baskets.
"Shen!"
A cheerful voice called out. Little Bao came running, his rabbit lantern clutched tightly in his small hands, though its paper was now crumpled from play. His face was smudged with dirt, his grin missing two front teeth.
"Look! My lantern survived the night!"
Shen chuckled despite himself. "Barely. Looks more like a wolf than a rabbit now."
Bao gasped, holding it up to the sun. "No! It's still a rabbit!" Then he puffed his chest proudly. "When I grow up, I'll make one as big as the moon!"
"Then the heavens themselves will see it," Shen said softly.
The boy's laughter faded as his mother called him back to the paddies. He ran off, waving over his shoulder. Shen's gaze lingered a moment longer before he moved on.
At the village square, Mei knelt beside her father's stall, shaping wet clay with careful fingers. She glanced up as Shen passed, a faint smile touching her lips.
"You disappeared quickly after the festival," she said.
"I prefer silence to crowds," Shen replied.
"Or perhaps you fear being dragged into a dance?" Mei teased, her eyes glinting.
Shen shook his head, but before he could reply, her father called sharply, "Mei! Focus." She lowered her gaze, returning to her work, though Shen thought he caught the faintest blush across her cheeks.
He walked on, unsettled.
By midday, the village square was alive with the simple bustle of life. Old Man Zhang sat beneath the lone mulberry tree, smoking his pipe and giving advice to anyone who asked. Uncle Wen sharpened his hunting knives, muttering to himself about shadows in the forest. Women haggled over grain, and children shrieked as they chased a stray goat.
Ordinary. Peaceful. Fragile.
Shen stood at the edge of it all, basket of wood still on his back, watching the people he had known his whole life.
And for a moment, he wished the mark upon his chest would stay silent forever.
But deep within, it pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat not his own.