Time flowed in silence, slipping away like a mountain stream that never ceased its gentle course.
Unknowingly, a hundred years had passed in the mortal world.
In the southern region of Huaxia, mountains stretched endlessly, and among them were scattered many ancient, rustic villages.
Nestled in a quiet valley near the border stood one such village—small, remote, and untouched by the noise of cities. Because of the several enormous green willow trees at its entrance, so wide that several people would have to join hands to encircle them, it was called Qingliu Village—the Village of Green Willows.
At the far end of the village, near the foot of a mountain, beside a clear stream that babbled softly day and night, stood a small courtyard. Though the house looked aged, it was meticulously clean and well tended.
A low bamboo fence surrounded the yard. Vines of some unknown green plant climbed the walls, blooming with tiny purple flowers. In one corner, a small plot of soil had been turned over, growing several fragrant medicinal herbs.
The residents of this modest home were two elderly men—white-haired yet spry, their bearing calm and ethereal like that of immortals. They rarely associated with outsiders, living quietly and reclusively. Only when they needed daily essentials would they venture into the village or the nearby market, always kind in manner but maintaining a subtle, deliberate distance from others.
That morning, dawn had barely broken. The eastern sky was tinged with pale white; morning dew still clung to leaves.
Just then, from the innermost room of the courtyard—a place the two elders had long forbidden anyone to approach, its doors closed year-round—an astonishing scene suddenly unfolded.
The strange meteorite that had been carefully placed upon a sturdy wooden bed began to shine without warning.
A gentle yet dazzling light erupted from within, warm and soft like the first ray of morning sun piercing the clouds. The light poured through cracks in the door and windows, bathing the entire courtyard in a dreamlike, golden radiance.
Then—
Crack!
A clear, ringing sound like the shattering of fine jade echoed through the tranquil dawn.
Inside the room, the luminous meteorite split open down the middle, a visible fissure spreading rapidly across its surface.
The crack widened as though alive, crawling swiftly toward both ends until—Bang!—the entire stone broke cleanly in two.
And at that exact moment—
"Waaah—!!"
A cry pierced the air—sharp, strong, and brimming with life. A newborn's cry, echoing through the room, sliced through the calm of the entire village like a thunderclap.
The two elders, Feng Yu and Feng Yang, opened their eyes at once.
In those eyes—usually as still and deep as ancient wells—flared a surge of disbelief, joy, and tension all at once.
A heartbeat later, their figures flashed, appearing instantly at the doorway of the glowing room.
They exchanged a glance—mutual excitement reflected in each other's gaze—and pushed open the door.
What they saw inside left even these two men, long accustomed to miracles, utterly speechless.
On the wooden bed lay a tiny, naked infant, his limbs flailing, pink and perfect, his cries loud and unyielding. He lay in the center of the now-split meteorite.
And then—before their astonished eyes—the two halves of the meteorite began to move.
Slowly, steadily, they drew together again, fusing seamlessly until the crack vanished completely, the surface smooth and lustrous as if it had never been broken.
Then another wonder occurred.
Bathed in that warm golden light, the rejoined stone began to shrink.
It condensed rapidly before their eyes, its vast bulk collapsing inward, tighter and tighter—until, after only a few breaths' time, what had once been a meteorite the size of a tabletop had become no larger than half an egg.
Now it hovered beside the crying infant—a delicate, translucent jade pendant, emanating a soft glow that seemed to soothe him.
"Oh heavens, my precious little one—my little ancestor!"
It was Feng Yang, the more spirited of the two, who recovered first. The shock on his face melted into a tender smile. He stepped forward, bending carefully as though handling the most fragile treasure in the world, and lifted the wailing baby into his arms.
"There, there, don't cry… don't be afraid, little one. Grandpa's here… Grandpa's holding you, see? Everything's fine now…"
His voice was low and gentle, embarrassingly sweet even to his own ears, yet his every movement overflowed with patience and affection.
Meanwhile, the calmer Feng Yu knelt beside the bed. With two long, slender fingers, he carefully picked up the tiny jade pendant that hovered in the air.
It was smooth and warm to the touch, with a faint, living heat—as though it still carried the infant's heartbeat.
He held it in his palm, turning it over and studying it with quiet concentration.
"Senior Brother," Feng Yang asked, rocking the now-curious baby, whose cries had quieted into wide-eyed wonder, "what do you make of it? Has the jade changed in any way?"
Feng Yu stroked the pendant's surface and slowly shook his head, his expression thoughtful.
"No major change," he murmured. "The complex engravings and arcane symbols that were etched into the meteorite before… they've all remained, only now condensed countless times over and imprinted upon this pendant. They're so fine they're nearly invisible."
He paused, then turned the pendant over.
"Except… there's something new. The other side of the pendant, which was once perfectly smooth, now bears a single character."
"Oh?" Feng Yang's curiosity piqued. "A character? What does it say?"
"See for yourself." Feng Yu handed the pendant over.
Feng Yang looked closely—and there it was, carved deep and strong in ancient strokes:
"Qin?" he blinked, then broke into a wide smile. "So this little fellow already carries a surname, eh? Qin—it suits him well!"
He glanced down at the baby in his arms, whose dark eyes gleamed like black pearls, fixated on the pendant. The longer Feng Yang looked, the more affection filled his heart.
"This must be fate, pure and simple! Since even the heavens have named him, how about you give him his full name, Senior Brother? We can't keep calling him 'little one' forever."
Feng Yu fell silent for a moment.
He gazed gently at the newborn—so small, so curious, so full of life—and for the first time in countless years, a faint warmth stirred behind his calm eyes.
After a long breath, he said softly, "Then… how about Qin Yu?"
"Qin Yu…" Feng Yang repeated, tasting the sound. Suddenly his eyes brightened, and he clapped his hands in delight.
"Excellent! What a fine name! 'As graceful as jade upon the road, a gentleman without equal in the world.' Born from heavenly jade, bonded to it by fate—'Qin Yu' is perfect! Beautiful in meaning and sound alike!"
Feng Yu's lips curved in a rare, genuine smile.
He held the pendant before the infant's curious gaze, swaying it gently as he spoke in a voice so soft it almost trembled with tenderness.
"Little Qin Yu… how do you like the name Grandpa gave you? Does it sound nice?"
The baby's bright eyes curved into crescent moons. He giggled, clear and sweet, reaching his tiny hands toward the pendant as if he truly understood.
Seeing this, Feng Yu and Feng Yang exchanged another look—and both laughed softly, their eyes filled with relief, affection, and quiet hope for the future.
The baby's loud cries that morning had startled a few nearby villagers, but with Feng Yu's quick thinking—a simple explanation about a housecat giving birth—the matter soon passed without suspicion.
From that day forward, the once-silent courtyard began to change.
With the arrival of little Qin Yu, warmth and vitality returned—along with something the two old men hadn't felt in a very long time:the gentle, human fragrance of ordinary life.