A thousand years had passed since the fall of the Ling dynasty. Yet, the land had healed with remarkable gentleness, as though time itself had been weaving new life into the fabric of the world. In the quiet village, morning sunlight fell upon the dew-covered flower petals, each droplet shimmering like a diamond gifted by heaven. The golden rays of dawn shone not merely as light, but as a symbol of peace descending upon the earth, as if the heavens themselves had whispered blessings onto the soil.
The roofs of the village houses, thatched carefully with dried reeds, glittered under the rising sun like strands of molten gold. Birds greeted the new day with their sweet songs, and into this harmonious chorus awoke a young woman named Dou Hi.
When she rose, she stepped outside and made her way to the village well. The bucket of fresh water that rested beside it gleamed with the morning chill. She drew some water, washed herself, and returned inside. Soon after, she began preparing the morning meal. As she worked, her thoughts wandered to the tasks awaiting her that day, for life in the village flowed steadily with its rhythms of work, care, and quiet responsibility.
Once the meal was ready, she walked softly to her son's room. Gently she called,
"Huang, wake up now. It is already morning."
But there was no reply.
At first, unease clutched her heart. She stepped inside the room only to find it empty. A wave of fear struck her, for she could not see him anywhere. She rushed outside and searched every corner of the house and yard. Then suddenly, she remembered—sometimes Huang would leave early to meet his friend before the day's work began. The realization calmed her trembling heart, though only slightly.
By the banks of the small river, where the water shimmered like liquid sapphire mixed with strands of white silk, two children were playing. The stream carried the scent of damp earth and the fragrance of surrounding trees, while the music of flowing water blended with the laughter of the children.
"Huang, stop there for a while," called the young girl, Wu Shi.
Huang halted and looked at her with a smile.
"Why? Are you tired, Wu Shi?"
"Yes," she admitted softly. "Let's rest a little before we walk further."
"Alright," Huang replied, feeling his own weariness as well. "In fact, perhaps we should return home. Mother must be waiting, and it is nearly time for breakfast."
"That sounds good. Let us go then," said Wu Shi, relieved.
When Huang entered his home, he called out cheerfully,
"Mother, I'm back!"
Dou Hi came quickly, though her face carried a mixture of relief and sternness. Seeing the look in her eyes, Huang felt a shiver of guilt. He realized she had been worried, for he had slipped out without a word.
Her expression softened as she said gently, "Now go and wash yourself properly before you sit for breakfast."
Reassured, Huang hurried to the well, splashed himself clean, and then joined his mother at the table. He sat down to eat in a manner almost regal, as though a young prince were dining in his palace. It was not arrogance, nor even conscious choice—it was something innate, an air he carried unknowingly since birth.
After breakfast, Huang announced,
"Mother, I will go to the farm now."
"Very well," Dou Hi replied, though her voice held the careful tone of a mother's concern. "But be careful."
The farmlands stretched wide, golden with ripened rice fields that shimmered like waves of light. Huang arrived to find Wu Shi already waiting. Together they walked toward the heart of the farm, where an elderly man stood. He was Grand Lu, the owner of the farm and also the respected leader of their village.
"Grand Lu," Huang greeted warmly, "what work do you wish us to do today?"
The old man smiled with kindness. "Ah, you both have arrived. Today your task is to harvest the fallen golden stalks of rice scattered across the field."
Without hesitation, Huang and Wu Shi set to work. From the morning hours until the sun began to lean toward evening, they toiled. Their hands gathered grain after grain, sweat beading on their brows, but their hearts were light. At last, when the day's work was complete, they tidied the farmstead, leaving it neat and cared for.
As they prepared to leave, Huang said, "Grand Lu, today's work is finished. We will take our leave now."
The two friends started home. Yet, as they walked, they sensed something unusual in the air. The sky seemed heavier, the wind restless. A strange stillness pressed upon the earth. Their instincts urged them to hurry, and so they quickened their pace.
They soon reached a slope, a small decline on the path. Wu Shi crossed it first without trouble. But when Huang followed, a fierce wind surged suddenly, striking him with such force that he was thrown down the slope.
"Huang!" Wu Shi screamed, her voice echoing with terror. She turned and ran as fast as she could toward his home.
Meanwhile, Huang tumbled down and landed hard upon a stone ledge. The fall left him battered, bruises and cuts covering his body. As he struggled, he glimpsed something unusual—a faint purple glow pulsing among the rocks. Though blurred by pain, the mysterious light drew his gaze. He reached toward it, but before his fingers could grasp it fully, darkness swallowed his vision.
What he did not see was that the glowing essence seeped silently into his wounds, flowing into his very body as though it were choosing him.
Not long after, Wu Shi arrived at Dou Hi's house, breathless and pale. She explained what had happened, words tumbling in panic. Dou Hi froze in horror.
"Huang…" she cried, before rushing toward the slope.
Mother and friend together found Huang lying unconscious upon the rock below, his body fragile but alive. Dou Hi fell to her knees, her voice trembling,
"Huang…"
She pressed her fingers to his wrist, searching desperately for a pulse. When she felt the faint throb of life, relief washed over her like the first drop of rain falling into a parched pond.
With great effort, she carried her injured son back home. There she cleaned his wounds carefully, applying herbs and remedies gathered from the village's ancient knowledge of healing plants.
Then she turned to Wu Shi and said softly, "Child, it is late. Go home now, but walk carefully."
"Yes, Aunt," Wu Shi answered, though sorrow weighed heavily on her heart. Guilt pressed on her thoughts, for she feared that Huang had been hurt because of her.
As night approached, Dou Hi let her son rest, while she prepared supper. Soon the aroma of her cooking filled the small home. The familiar scent roused Huang, who awoke with a pang of regret in his chest. Slowly, he walked to where his mother stood.
"I am sorry, Mother," he whispered, eyes lowered.
Dou Hi looked at him, puzzled. "Why do you apologize, my son?"
"It is because of me," he confessed. "I told Wu Shi we should take the shorter path home instead of the longer road. If not for that, this would never have happened."
His mother sighed gently. "Do not burden yourself with guilt, Huang. What has passed cannot be changed. Come now, eat your supper."
Huang nodded, though the weight did not fully leave him. He sat and ate the warm meal she had prepared. When he finished, Dou Hi said, "Rest now. I will clean the dishes."
But Huang shook his head. Instead, he took his own bowl, washed it carefully, and even cleaned the others. It was his way of easing his guilt, a quiet gesture of love for his mother.
When all was done, he looked at her and said softly,
"Good night, Mother."