The rooster crowed before the sun had climbed the hills, and Qinghe Town stirred like a waking cat.
It was the ninth day of the third month — clear, crisp, and bright. The air smelled of pine and distant river mist. Today was Stone-Stepping Day.
In the Yun household, steam rose from a small clay pot as Madam Su stirred porridge with goji berries and slices. A small bowl of pickled radish rested beside it, and fresh flatbread warmed by the stove.
"Eat slowly, Long'er," she said with a smile as she adjusted the sash on his new blue robe. "Don't get your sleeves in the soup."
Yun Long sat upright at the low table, his cheeks puffed with warm rice. His new robe was itchy, but he didn't mind the discomfort. His father had said he looked like a proper young man in it — and that made him sit straighter.
"Can I carry the incense stick myself?" he asked through a mouthful.
"You may," said Old Yun, walking in from the yard with a bundle of folded straw mats. "But if you drop it, your mother will chase you with the broom."
Yun Long laughed.
The sun was just rising as they joined the small procession winding down the narrow street toward the Stone Circle — a worn ring of flat stones at the edge of the town's western fields. Dozens of families walked alongside them, children all dressed in pale robes, parents whispering instructions and wiping invisible dust from their collars.
Banners fluttered gently in the wind, and three small bells chimed above the shrine's gate.
This was no grand ceremony — no sect banners, no fanfare — only a quiet tradition, kept by generations. It marked the moment when a child crossed the threshold between small chores and real labor; between youth and the first hints of purpose.
"Walk properly," Madam Su said gently, adjusting his collar for the third time.
Yun Long nodded obediently.
At the circle, the town's three elders were already seated. Each child would step forward, kneel within the center stone, and offer incense to the heavens — a symbolic act, to mark growth and petition blessings for the road ahead.
Yun Long waited in line, heart thumping with nervous pride.
When his turn came, he stepped barefoot onto the moss-lined stone, the circle cool and faintly damp beneath his soles.
He bowed once to the east — for the rising sun.
Once to the west — for the ancestors.
Then finally, he knelt and planted the incense into the center slot.
A puff of white smoke curled upward.
The air was still.
He stayed in position, head lowered as instructed.
And then… something flickered.
Just for a moment.
So faint that even Yun Long didn't notice — the barest shimmer in the air above the circle, as if the sunlight bent around him and the moss at his feet darkened a shade too deep before fading back to green.
No one reacted.
The elder at the side nodded approvingly. "Well done, Yun Long. You may rise."
He stood, bowed, and returned to his parents, who each gave both his hand a quiet squeeze. The warmth in his chest made him forget the stone's chill completely.
The rest of the day passed in small joys. Children played by the riverbank, robes stained with grass and laughter. Parents gossiped under plum trees. Old Yun told stories of when the circle was once larger, before the town shrank.
That evening, Madam Su lit a lantern and placed it by the door.
"For good fortune," she said.
Yun Long fell asleep with a smile, dreaming of lanterns drifting into the sky like fireflies.
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