The night air clung to him like mist as he followed the monk through the winding streets. His bare feet scraped against uneven stones, but he kept walking. The monk's staff clicked softly with each step, steady and unhurried, as though the world's burdens could not touch him.
They left the market and climbed a narrow path into the hills. Lantern light faded behind them, replaced by the silver glow of the moon. The boy glanced back once, at the city where he had nearly died. Then he lowered his gaze and pressed on.
At the top of the hill stood a humble temple, its wooden beams weathered, its paper lanterns swaying gently in the wind. There were no guards here, no feasts, no golden halls—only silence and the faint scent of incense drifting from within.
The monk pushed open the creaking gate and gestured for him to enter.
"Here," the monk said, "no one will strike you for being hungry."
The boy hesitated. He had never been anywhere that promised safety. Still, he stepped inside.
A tatami mat room awaited, simple and bare. A single candle flickered in the center. The monk set his staff down and fetched a small clay bowl, filling it with warm broth.
"Eat," he said again.
The boy drank slowly this time, savoring each sip. His trembling eased, his breath steadied. For the first time in years, the ache in his belly was quiet.
The monk sat opposite him, cross-legged. "Do you know why I gave you food?"
The boy shook his head.
"Because kindness is not a gift to be earned. It is a river that flows, expecting nothing in return. But if you follow that river, it will shape you. That is the Way."
The boy didn't fully understand, but something in the monk's voice calmed him.
"You said you have no name," the monk continued. "A name is not just a word; it is a path. Tonight, you begin a new one."
He reached into his sleeve and placed his hand gently on the boy's head.
"From this day forth, you will be called Arin Tao. Arin, for the gentle strength of water. Tao, for the Way you shall walk."
The boy blinked. "A… name?"
"Yes. And you will learn to make it mean something."
Outside, the wind stirred the temple chimes. The moon hung high, casting silver light upon the hills. The boy—Arin—clutched the empty bowl to his chest, feeling warmth not just from food, but from something deeper.
He didn't know it yet, but this night marked the first step of a journey that would carry him across lands and through countless hearts.
For now, he slept on a thin mat beneath the temple roof, no longer nameless.
He was Arin Tao, the boy who had nothing—and would learn to give everything.
The temple lay silent under the moonlight. A faint wind rustled through the garden's bamboo stalks, carrying with it the scent of pine and cool earth. Arin lay on the thin straw mat the monk had given him, but his eyes refused to close. The hollow ache in his belly had eased, yet something heavier weighed inside him.
After a long while, he rose.
The temple's sliding doors creaked faintly as he pushed them aside. Beyond them lay a tiny garden, enclosed by a low wooden fence. A weathered table sat beneath a crooked plum tree. The boy stepped out and sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor, his gaze lifting to the sky.
It was the first time he had looked at the stars in years.
Thousands of them glittered above, cold and distant, but beautiful. He hugged his knees, listening to the lonely hum of night insects. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called. The world felt vast—too vast for someone like him.
"Why are you awake?"
The soft voice startled him. He turned. The monk stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the faint candlelight behind him. His robes fluttered in the night breeze. He crossed the veranda slowly and sat beside the boy, his staff resting against his shoulder.
"You should sleep," the monk said gently. "Your body is weak."
Arin lowered his head. "I… I can't."
The monk waited, his eyes calm. "What troubles your heart?"
For a long time, the boy said nothing. The words pressed against his chest like stones. He had never spoken of it to anyone. No one had cared enough to ask. But tonight felt different. The silence of the shabby temple, the kindness in the monk's voice—it loosened something in him.
"My father," he began hoarsely, "was a soldier. He served the city lord. He believed… he believed it was an honor to protect the land."
The monk said nothing, only listening.
"They sent him to fight in a war. He never came back. They said he died bravely, but… but they didn't give us anything. Not even rice. Not even a single coin."
His voice cracked. "My mother… she waited. She cried every day. She begged the city lord for help, but he called her filthy and told her to leave. When she knelt before his gates, the guards threw stones at her. She… she stopped getting up after that. One morning, she didn't wake."
The boy's hands trembled in his lap. The stars above blurred with tears. "I buried her myself. No one came. No one cared. I… I thought if I worked, maybe I could survive. But no one gives work to a beggar boy. I stole scraps from trash, and they called me rat. When I tried to eat from the temple tonight, they kicked me. They laughed. Why… why are people like this?"
The words spilled out like a dam breaking. "Why do they have so much while I have nothing? My father died for them! My mother died because of them! The city lord feasts while I starve. Why? Why is the world so cruel?"
His voice rose, then broke into sobs. He buried his face in his arms. "I hate them… I hate them all…"
The night air held still. Only the sound of the boy's muffled crying and the faint chirp of crickets filled the garden.
The monk sat silently beside him. After a while, he placed a hand lightly on the boy's head. His touch was warm, steady.
"The world," the monk said softly, "is heavy with greed. There are men who hoard wealth while others perish. There are lords who send soldiers to die and forget the families left behind. Such is the way of desire without compassion."
The boy sniffled, lifting his tear-streaked face. "Then… then what's the point of living?"
The monk's gaze turned upward toward the stars. "To live," he said, "is to choose. Some choose greed. Some choose cruelty. But there are others who choose differently. Your pain is deep, child. It could turn you into the same kind of man who hurt you. But it could also make you someone who heals others. Which will you choose?"
The boy blinked at him, unsure.
"When your father died, it was not for the city lord's greed alone. He believed in protecting others. That belief lives on in you, if you let it."
"But… I'm weak," the boy whispered.
"Even the river begins as a drop of rain," the monk replied with a faint smile. "Strength is not in the fist but in the heart. You have suffered much. Let that suffering teach you compassion, not hatred."
The boy sat silent, his small fingers curling around the edge of his ragged sleeve. "Can I… really do that?"
The monk's eyes crinkled with kindness. "That is why I have given you a name. Arin Tao. To walk the Way is not easy. It asks you to face the world's cruelty without becoming cruel yourself. It asks you to share kindness even when you have little. Will you walk this path with me?"
Arin wiped his face with the back of his hand. The tears had slowed, though his chest still ached. He looked again at the stars. They no longer seemed so far away.
"I'll try," he whispered.
"That is all the Way asks," the monk said.
They sat together in silence for a time. The stars burned brightly above, reflected in the monk's calm eyes. In the distance, the city lord's manor gleamed under moonlight, full of feasting and laughter. Arin no longer looked at it. His gaze was fixed on the sky.
For the first time, he felt something small and fragile take root inside him. Hope.
That night, under the crooked plum tree, the boy who had been nameless and unwanted found not just a name, but a reason to keep living. And though he did not yet know it, this seed of hope would one day grow strong enough to shake empires.