The days after the Harvest Festival passed in quiet rhythm, each one much like the last.
At dawn, the sound of roosters echoed through the valley, and smoke rose from clay chimneys as women prepared morning porridge. Children stumbled sleepily after their parents, carrying wooden pails to fetch water from the well.
Liang Shen rose early as always. He had no family to rise with, no home but the small hut on the edge of the forest. Yet each morning he walked into the village with his bundle of firewood, trading it for rice or a few copper coins. The routine was plain, but it grounded him.
This morning, he found Old Man Zhang sitting on a stool by the well, leaning on his cane as he supervised the children. The old chief greeted Shen with a nod.
"Young man," Zhang said, his voice rough yet steady, "you work harder than most, though you have no mouth to feed but your own. Why is that?"
Shen bowed slightly. "If my hands are idle, my mind grows restless."
Zhang puffed on his pipe, studying him. "Restless minds often hide heavy burdens. Remember—sometimes sharing weight lightens it."
Shen gave no reply, only a polite nod, before moving on.
Later, as he carried his wood past the potter's stall, Mei looked up from her wheel. Clay streaked her cheeks, and a lock of hair clung stubbornly to her brow.
"You never smile," she said without preamble.
Shen paused. "I have little reason to."
"Then perhaps you've never looked for one," she answered, her eyes sharp but not unkind.
He said nothing, but when she returned to shaping the clay, he found himself watching for longer than he should have.
By midday, the villagers gathered for their shared meal. Wooden bowls of steaming millet porridge were passed around, along with pickled radish and roasted chestnuts left from the festival. Children crowded together, laughing with mouths full, while the elders' traded tales of old wars and wandering heroes.
Shen sat on the edge of the gathering as always, eating in silence. Yet when little Bao plopped down beside him, waving his crooked lantern stick like a sword, Shen found himself listening more closely to the laughter around him.
The world outside was vast, filled with cultivators and sect wars—but here, in this hidden corner, life moved with the steady pace of the earth itself.