The morning sunlight spilled across the streets of Azure City like molten gold, catching the rain-dampened pavement and glinting off the old signs of Mom-and-Pop shops. Among the hum of traffic and the chatter of early risers, a small fruit cart rattled along the cobblestones, pushed by a boy no older than seventeen.
Lian Ye's brown hair caught the light in a warm glow, and his brown eyes sparkled with a quiet cheerfulness. His hands were calloused from years of pushing the wooden cart and arranging fruit, yet his movements were fluid, almost playful, as he nudged a crate of peaches to balance against the wheels.
"Good morning, Mr. Chen!" Lian called out to a shopkeeper arranging noodles in a steaming basket.
"Morning, Ye!" The shopkeeper chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Those peaches look even fresher today. Did you pick them yourself?"
"Of course! Straight from the orchard outside the city," Lian said with a grin. "Only the best for my favorite customers."
He liked mornings like this. The rhythm of the streets, the smell of fresh bread and morning rain, the simple exchanges with familiar faces—it all felt like a melody. Every greeting, every nod, was a thread tying him to a world that, for now, was his own.
---
Lian's life wasn't extraordinary, not yet. But it was warm. There was Mei, the girl who ran a small tea stall near the intersection. She was fifteen, wiry and quick, with a laugh that always made Lian grin.
"Ye, you're late again," she said teasingly as he approached, balancing a crate of apples. "The early birds got the best peaches already."
"I had to make sure the oranges didn't roll off the cart," he said, winking.
Mei shook her head, laughing, her apron fluttering in the breeze. "You really care about fruit more than anyone else I know."
And there was Old Lin, the man who sold newspapers and had a permanent frown etched on his face but always gave Lian a free comic on Saturdays.
"Keep up the work, kid," Old Lin grumbled, sliding a stack of comics into Lian's hands. "One day, you'll have enough sense not to wander into trouble."
"Thanks, Uncle Lin!" Lian said, smiling wide. He didn't think about danger. He barely knew it existed beyond the city rumors adults whispered about in hushed voices.
Even the kids he delivered to—like little Tao, who always insisted on helping him carry a single peach, and shy Linh, who waved from her balcony—made life feel alive and easy.
---
The city streets had their own pulse. Vendors shouted over the noise of traffic. The clatter of a tram blended with the metallic squeak of bicycle wheels. People moved in synchronized chaos: a dance Lian knew intimately.
He would stop by the small alley behind the noodle shop to pick up fresh crates of dragon fruit, arranging them just so, letting their vibrant magenta and green contrast with the sunlit gray of the pavement. The smell of citrus and dew mingled with the city air, grounding him.
And as he pushed the cart past the old bridge, he would sometimes pause to watch the river flowing below, catching the sunlight in silver glimmers. It was simple, fleeting, and beautiful—life's tiny, unremarkable joys.
---
By mid-morning, Lian had delivered to almost every street in the neighborhood. People waved, called his name, or offered small gestures: a wrapped candy from an old lady, a quick nod from a shopkeeper, a hand up from a little boy racing past him.
He liked connecting with people this way. Not through words that demanded attention or fame, but through these quiet, small threads of trust and recognition.
At the corner bakery, he stopped to hand Mei a bundle of peaches. "For you," he said simply.
Her eyes widened. "Ye… you remembered!"
"I always do," he replied with a grin.
These interactions made him feel… alive. Whole. Safe. As if the world outside the streets he knew didn't exist.
---
By noon, his cart was lighter, his legs a little tired, but his heart was full. Lian walked slowly along the avenue, taking in the city. A pigeon cooed on a lamppost. A street performer played a soft tune on a violin. Children ran past chasing a stray dog.
He leaned on the cart for a moment, taking it all in. For now, there was no danger. No conspiracies. No suits or whispered secrets. Just him, the city, and the people who made it home.
And as he glanced down at his hands, smudged with peach juice, he smiled. Today, life was simple. Today, it was enough.
---
But the world, Lian Ye didn't know, had already begun to notice him.
A shadow flickered across the rooftops as he delivered his final crate. Eyes unseen, observing, calculating. People with power, people in suits, people who could change everything. They would come. And when they did, the world he knew—the brown-haired boy delivering fruit, the laughter, the small connections—would end.
For now, though, the sun still shone. The streets still called his name. The city still felt like home.
And Lian Ye pushed his cart forward, unaware that the first threads of fate were already weaving themselves around him, ready to pull him into a life he could never have imagined.