Each spring, the villagers of Star-Hollow gathered before dawn, climbing the slope to the Star Shrine, a sacred terrace carved into the eastern ridge. It was the one day each year when children who had reached their seventh summer were allowed to test for the spark the first stirring of the stars within them.
Lan Gu walked among the other children, his small feet careful over the damp grass. Mist hugged the valley, curling around the terraces like pale ghosts. Birds were silent, and even the river seemed quieter than usual. The adults, faces lined with age and toil, formed a solemn circle around the shrine. No one spoke above a whisper. The air itself felt heavy, as if the world held its breath.
The shrine was little more than a ring of worn stones surrounding a black-marble slab. In its center stood a bronze basin filled with oil, polished to a mirror like sheen. When lit, the flame shimmered in nine colors, one for each Star. The village elders called it Heaven's mirror, a portal through which the child's first connection to the stars would be revealed.
Lan Gu watched the oil ripple faintly in the wind. To him, it was more than ritual it was a reflection of possibility. He noticed small patterns in the currents of oil and air, the way light bent along the basin's rim, the almost imperceptible shiver of the surrounding mist. He had no name for it yet. He only knew the world had rules, and even as a child, he began studying them.
The eldest among the elders, his hair white as frost, stepped forward, leaning on a twisted staff carved with glyphs for every Star. His voice cracked as he spoke, yet carried across the circle.
"Each of you will step forward and touch the basin," he said. "If Heaven acknowledges you, you will see your star. If not, you must try again next year. Whatever shines is the road you must walk. Heaven chooses; mortals obey."
One by one, the children approached. Most glimpsed only the faintest glimmer, a soft white pulse in the oil that faded almost immediately. A few saw nothing at all and lowered their heads in quiet disappointment. Only a single boy drew a slightly brighter reflection a gentle blue star, steady and calm. The villagers murmured approval; blue meant a steady life, a cultivator's chance if nurtured well.
Lan Gu waited, silent, watching the reactions. His hands itched, but he remained still. When the line moved to him, he stepped forward with a measured calm. No smile, no hesitation just observation.
He placed both hands on the rim of the basin. Cold metal against his small palms. The oil's surface trembled. Nothing happened at first. The villagers held their breath.
Then the flame leapt.
It was sudden and violent. Color exploded across the shrine silver, gold, violet, threads of light coiling upward. The oil reflected the sky in miniature, a mirror where heaven and earth seemed to collide. The entire terrace glowed. Villagers shielded their eyes; the elders muttered prayers under their breath.
Lan Gu, however, did not flinch. His eyes focused on the shimmer of the flame, tracing patterns only he seemed to perceive. He felt a vibration deep in his chest, a silent pulse echoing the very rhythm of the stars themselves. In that moment, he glimpsed nine tiny points of light spinning within his mind, each forming patterns too complex for words, yet unmistakably precise.
The brilliance lasted only a heartbeat, then faded. The oil stilled, calm and dark once more. Silence fell heavier than before. Whispers spread like wildfire through the circle.
"Did Heaven reject him?""No the flame vanished too quickly.""Maybe… maybe it hid itself."
The elder stepped forward, trembling as he placed a hand on Lan Gu's brow. Even he, with decades of experience, could feel something unusual radiating from the boy.
"Child," he asked slowly, "what did you see?"
Lan Gu met the elder's gaze with steady eyes. "A road," he said softly. "It was far… very far, but it was calling."
The elder froze. He had heard prophecy, studied the stars, observed the children, but he had never encountered someone who perceived the stars in this way. He forced a calm voice for the crowd. "Heaven plays tricks on bright eyes. The boy has imagination good for study." Yet his hand still trembled, and for a moment, the villagers sensed that the boy was… different.
When the ceremony ended, the villagers celebrated as usual, lighting lanterns and singing to the stars. But that night, the elder wrote a single note in the shrine's record book:
Lan Gu nine lights seen. Interpretation: uncertain. Observation required.
Lan Gu did not know about the note. He walked home along the ridge with his father, the mist wrapping around them like a thin veil.
"Father," he asked quietly, "why do some stars shine brighter than others? Why does Heaven let them move at different speeds?"
His father laughed softly, though unease lingered in his eyes. "Those who move faster are gifted, Gu'er. Be content with the Ninth Star. The First Star… it is not for us. Only twelve in all of history have ever touched it."
Lan Gu nodded. The words meant little. He did not understand them yet, but the image of the beam he had seen in the sky earlier returned to him. That shining column splitting clouds, reaching toward Heaven… it was a road. A road he wanted to follow.
That night, he lay in bed, the moonlight casting a thin silver path across the floor. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Nine Stars spinning within his mind. For the first time, one trembled as if answering the memory of the pillar of light.
He reached out with his thoughts, imagining himself following the road upward. A faint spark shimmered at his fingertips, almost like the afterimage of the flame, before fading.
Lan Gu smiled softly to himself.
Someday, he whispered. I'll see that light again. And when I do… I'll follow it.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of rain and burnt ozone the last trace of the cultivator who had pierced the sky that day, and the first whisper of a child who would one day dare to defy Heaven itself.
The valley settled into silence, but Lan Gu's mind did not. His eyes remained open long after the lanterns dimmed, tracing patterns in the stars. One flickered in response, faint and almost imperceptible a quiet acknowledgment from above.
And in the quiet house of Star-Hollow, a boy dreamed not of toys, or games, or petty childhood pleasures—but of a road no one else had walked, a path that reached beyond the stars.