[23rd Year of Xuanzhao, Qingshi Village]
Morning light rested lightly over the village, spreading across tiled roofs and packed earth streets. The air carried the smell of dust warmed by the sun, mixed with the sharper notes of wood smoke and boiled grain. A breeze passed through open alleys and low eaves, lifting loose cloth and carrying voices from one end of the street to the other.
A child moved along the edge of the road, small enough to disappear behind adults when he slowed, quick enough to slip ahead when he ran. His hair was tied high with a simple cord, the tail of it bouncing against the back of his neck as he moved. His face was still soft, features not yet sharpened by age, eyes large and dark beneath straight brows. He wore a light tunic of pale cloth, clean but plainly cut, sleeves tied back to keep them from his hands, and soft shoes already dusted from the road.
He stopped near a low stone wall and leaned forward slightly, fingers gripping the edge as he rose onto his toes.
Beyond the wall, a small academy yard lay open to the sun. Dozens of teenagers stood in ordered lines, feet planted wide on the packed earth. An old man walked slowly between them, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight despite the years showing in his hair and face.
He stopped.
The lines moved.
Arms thrust forward in unison, feet shifting as one.
"Yaah."
The sound rose together, uneven at the edges but strong at the center.
The child's mouth parted slightly. His eyes followed the movement of fists and elbows, the way bodies turned and settled again. When the old man raised one hand, the lines stilled. When he dropped it, they moved again.
"Haah."
The child rocked forward without realizing it, heels lifting from the ground. A quiet sound slipped from him, more breath than voice.
"Ohhh…"
A shadow fell across the wall.
"Young Master Chen."
The child froze.
"Young Master Chen—where did you run off to now?"
He turned his head just enough to see the corner of a guard's uniform pushing through the crowd behind him. The man's voice rose as he searched, cutting through the academy's rhythm.
The child's eyes widened.
He dropped back down, spun on his heel, and ran.
His laughter came out as he went, light and unrestrained, breathless from the first few steps. He darted between two women carrying baskets, slipped past a cart loaded with firewood, and burst into the wider street beyond.
The town opened around him.
Stalls lined both sides of the road, awnings stretched tight against the sun. Vendors stood behind low tables and carts, voices raised in practiced calls.
"Fresh buns—just steamed!"
"Herbal salves, ground this morning!"
"Sweet dates, sweet dates—try one!"
The child's head turned as he ran, eyes catching flashes of color and motion. A man roasting skewers turned meat over crackling coals. A woman weighed grain on a hanging scale. A group of children paused in their game to watch him pass, grinning.
"Morning, Young Master!"
"Running again?"
The child laughed louder, lifting one hand in a quick wave without slowing.
Behind him, boots struck the ground heavily.
"Hah… haaah—Young Master Chen!"
The guard pushed through the crowd, breath already uneven, one hand braced briefly on a vendor's cart before he straightened and continued the chase. People stepped aside for him, some shaking their heads, others smiling as they watched.
The child cut down a narrower street, the sounds of the market softening behind him. The sun was higher here, the walls reflecting the light back down, warming the air. His pace slowed as the street widened again, ending before a broad courtyard gate.
He stopped.
Before him stood a walled residence, stone and timber set carefully together. The gate stood open, shadowed beneath its tiled roof. Above it hung a wooden plaque, the characters carved deep and dark against the polished surface.
"Chen Manor!"
The child planted his hands on his knees and bent forward, shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. Dust clung to the hem of his tunic. A strand of hair had slipped loose and stuck to his temple.
Footsteps approached from behind, slower now.
"Huh… ah… Young Master…"
The guard reached the gate and stopped, hands on his thighs, chest heaving. Sweat darkened the collar of his uniform. He lifted his head and looked down at the child, a strained smile breaking through his breathing.
"You really… have far too much energy."
The child straightened and laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. He brushed his hands together, scattering dust, and turned toward the gate.
The guard followed as they passed beneath the plaque and into the courtyard beyond, where the noise of the town faded behind stone walls and the wind moved more quietly through shaded trees.
Passing beneath the gate, the child entered a shaded corridor paved with smooth stone. The air inside the manor was cooler, the light softened by carved wooden screens and hanging eaves. Potted plants lined the passage, leaves still wet with morning dew. Somewhere deeper within, water trickled steadily, the sound carried faintly through open spaces.
Servants paused in their work as he passed.
"Good morning, Young Master."
"Out running again so early again?"
One maid smiled as she straightened from sweeping, another shook her head lightly as she glanced at the guard behind him. A few exchanged looks and quiet laughter.
The guard slowed, lifting one hand in surrender. "If the Young Master wishes to test my legs again tomorrow, I fear I may not survive."
The child gave a short humph in response and moved on, though his pace slowed as he entered a small garden courtyard.
Stone steps led down to a patch of carefully tended flowers. A woman sat there, her posture relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her knee as she looked down at the blossoms. She wore a simple robe of pale green, the fabric soft and unadorned, sleeves loose at the wrists. Her hair was gathered neatly at the back, secured with a plain hairpin that caught the light when she turned.
[Lin Shu, Lady of Chen Manor]
She was not striking at first glance, nor easily overlooked. Her face carried an ease that drew the eye, and when she smiled, it settled naturally, as if it belonged there.
The child did not slow.
"Mother!"
He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She shifted at once, arms moving to catch him as he pressed close. With practiced ease, she lifted him up, his feet leaving the ground as his laughter broke out again.
"Ming'er," she said, the name soft as she looked at him.
She reached up and pinched his cheek lightly, her expression firm but warm. "Where did you run off to again this morning?"
The child's laughter faltered. He looked down at the stone steps, his feet swinging slightly where she held him. After a moment, his head lifted again, eyes bright.
"Mother, I want to learn martial arts."
She set him down as he spoke. He took two steps back and raised his arms, copying what he had seen beyond the academy wall. His stance wavered, feet too close together, fists lifting and dropping without rhythm.
A young maid standing nearby covered her mouth, a laugh slipping out despite herself.
The woman watched for a moment, then shook her head slightly. "It's not yet your age for that, Ming'er," she said. "Wait until you turn twelve or thirteen. Then I will personally ask your father to teach you."
The child lowered his arms. He looked at her, then down at his hands. His fingers began to move as if counting, lips pressing together as he did.
"But… but that's still four years," he said.
She laughed quietly. "Then nothing can be done. You will have to wait four years."
The child did not answer at once. His brows drew together slightly as he stared at the ground. After a moment, his head lifted. He nodded once, as if settling something for himself.
He turned and ran.
"Ming'er—Ming'er!"
Her voice followed him down the corridor as he disappeared between pillars and screens, his footsteps light and quick against the stone.
He slowed only when he reached the main discussion hall. The doors stood partially open, voices carrying from within. He stopped just outside, one hand resting against the wooden frame.
"That mine could change the livelihoods of the people in Qingshi," a man's voice said. It was bright, steady, and unhurried. "If managed properly, many families would benefit. The earnings would be considerable as well. For now, keep this matter quiet."
The child pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Father."
The room was wide and orderly, sunlight filtering in through high windows. A man in his early thirties turned at the sound of the voice. He wore a dark robe trimmed neatly at the edges, his posture straight where he sat. His expression was calm, eyes clear, and when they fell on the child, they softened immediately.
[Chen Yuan, head of the Chen family]
"Ming'er."
The child ran forward. The man rose halfway from his seat and lifted him easily, laughter breaking free as he settled back down, the child perched comfortably on his lap upon the family head's chair.
The child's gaze wandered over the room. Several figures stood nearby, some with hair already gray, others still dark. They wore different expressions as they watched in amusement, patience, quiet attention.
The man rested one arm lightly around his son and looked toward an old man standing near the front.
"Old Hao," he said, his tone easy, "I hear you are marrying off your daughter."
The old man startled, then stepped forward quickly, bowing as his eyes widened. "Yes, Master," he replied, nodding.
Chen Yuan's gaze shifted briefly to the side. He lifted two fingers and made a small, casual motion.
An attendant stepped forward at once. From within his sleeve, he produced a cloth pouch and placed it into Old Hao's hands before retreating a step.
Old Hao looked down in confusion. He loosened the cord and peered inside.
His breath caught.
The color drained from his face. His hands began to shake, the pouch crumpling slightly in his grip as he raised his head again.
"Master… this…"
Chen Yuan's expression did not change. He spoke evenly, as if stating something already decided. "Take it. Your daughter grew up under this roof. To us, she is no different from family. You will need it."
Old Hao stood frozen for a moment. Then his knees bent sharply, and he bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His shoulders trembled as tears slipped free and dropped onto the stone.
"Th-thank you, Master," he said, his voice breaking.
Chen Yuan lifted one hand. "Enough. Go and prepare properly."
Old Hao bowed again before retreating, clutching the pouch tightly against his chest.
The others followed soon after, taking their leave one by one. The discussion hall emptied, footsteps fading until only silence remained.
Chen Ming sat quietly on his father's lap, his eyes following the departing figures. When the doors closed, he looked up, his head tilting slightly.
"Father," he said, after a moment, "why did you give money to Grandpa Hao, even when he didn't ask?"
Chen Yuan lowered his gaze to him. One hand rested lightly against the child's back.
"Old Hao was with us when the Chen family had nothing," he said. "He trusted us then. He helped your grandfather. He helped me. Now that he is in need, it is our turn to return the favor."
Chen Ming listened, his brows drawing together slightly.
"So what if he didn't ask?" Chen Yuan continued, his voice calm. "That does not change what is owed."
The child nodded slowly.
"Oh."
Chen Yuan looked at him for a moment longer. His voice softened, carrying neither command nor urgency.
"Ming'er," he said, "remember this and carry it with you.
In this world, lives end, but debts do not.
A kindness once received must be repaid,
even if the road ahead is buried in ash,
and the whole world stands against you—
Through ash and silence."
[End Of Chapter]