The Spring Equinox marked Founder's Day, a time once steeped in tradition.
On March 29, 2009, that day had arrived.
Years ago, every household in Havenwood would have honored the day with offerings to the ancestors. But as the younger generations left to find work in the cities, the village had grown quiet, populated mostly by the elderly and the very young. Customs were simplified, the festive air faded.
A few families still observed the holiday with reverence, laying out offerings and preparing a feast to mark the occasion. Most settled for something simpler: an elder leading a child to light a stick of incense before the founder's portrait. For some, the tradition had vanished altogether.
The Huang family, however, never wavered. Even with only an old man and his grandson left, they honored Founder's Day without fail.
After tidying the small altar, the grandfather lit a fresh stick of incense, his face etched with worry. "Great Founder, I ask for your blessing. Please watch over my Xu'er, keep him healthy and safe… cough, cough…"
"Grandpa! Lunch is ready." A young man entered carrying a tray of food, clearing the table with practiced efficiency.
The old man sat down, his coughing subsiding as he looked at his grandson with a troubled gaze. "Xu'er, what did Dr. Liang say about your condition this morning?"
The young man offered a small smile. "She said my mood is stable. That I'm fine now."
The old man nodded, the worry on his face softening as he looked at his cheerful grandson.
As they ate, the grandfather piled food onto the boy's plate, his expression a mixture of affection and sorrow. The boy had a hard life. He'd been born with problems. His eyes, for one, were unlike anyone else's—the irises were ringed with so many white flecks that it looked as if he had pupils within pupils.
For years, he didn't speak. He had a vacant stare, yet a traveling fortune-teller had filled the family's heads with nonsense, calling the boy's eyes a sign of greatness, a sage in the making destined for a late bloom. The grandfather had believed him and never sought a doctor.
It wasn't until the boy was four and still hadn't uttered a word that the family panicked and finally took him to a hospital. The tests concluded his IQ was a mere fifty. A mild intellectual disability.
Worse, his eyes weren't a sign of a "sage" but of congenital cataracts. His vision was poor—barely 20/100 in both eyes, with severe astigmatism. Two incurable conditions, a burden that broke the old man's heart.
But an intellectual disability didn't mean he was a fool. For a mild case, it manifested as poor focus, a weak memory, and delayed reasoning and language skills.
When the boy, Xu'er, was five, his parents died in a fiery explosion when their natural gas vehicle malfunctioned. They were gone before he ever had the chance to call them "Mom" and "Dad," words he first spoke in the silence they left behind.
The compensation money was substantial, but it couldn't fill the void. He was left alone with his grandfather, a lonely child. After the tragedy, his cognitive functions showed marked improvement. He began to talk. Though his expression was poor, he could understand others, even if he seemed slow on the uptake.
Once he could speak, he would often say he saw strange things, that he could feel complex patterns around him. But he could never explain what he meant, describing them like ghosts only he could see. This, combined with his unusual eyes, led to whispers in the village that the boy could see "unclean things." The grandfather, fearing the stigma, would scold him whenever he brought it up. "There's nothing there! Stop talking nonsense!" A slap would often follow the words.
Eventually, Xu'er learned to stay quiet.
At seven, he started mainstream public school instead of a special institution. Though he was always at the bottom of the class, learning everything several beats slower than his peers, he could at least communicate.
Middle school was a different story. The academic pace quickened, and he fell hopelessly behind. Teachers grew weary of him, and classmates called him "dummy." He tried to study longer, to make up for his shortcomings, but prolonged mental effort caused him agonizing headaches that could even lead to blackouts. The night sky was a particular trigger. Gazing at the stars would make his head throb, leaving him trembling and biting his lip in silent pain. The moon was worse; a single glance at it would make him pass out instantly.
His grandfather's heart ached for him. Between that and the school's gentle pressure, he allowed the boy to drop out before the high school entrance exams. He brought him home to help on the farm.
It had been over half a year since he'd left school in June of 2008. He was surprisingly adept at the farm work—plowing, harvesting, and threshing. He fetched water, cooked meals, and managed daily chores like any other person. It was only in his idle moments—staring blankly from the edge of a field, watching people talk with a lost expression, or sitting motionless in front of the TV for hours—that he resembled the "village idiot" some people thought he was.
But as the days passed, his grandfather thought that perhaps a simple, peaceful life like this would be enough. His only worries were that the boy would never find a wife and that his own health was failing. The old man's lungs had been bad for years, a condition that worsened with age. He was plagued by a constant, rattling cough, his throat thick with phlegm, his breath short, his limbs growing weaker by the day.
What would happen to his grandson, he wondered, when he was gone?
"Dr. Liang! Is Dr. Liang here?"
They had just finished their meal when the village chief's voice called from the yard.
The grandfather went to the gate. "What is it, Chief?"
"Old Huang, is the doctor at your place?" Chief Evans asked.
The old man shook his head. "No. Xu'er's been doing much better, so he's been going to her clinic on his own in the mornings. No need to make her come all the way out here anymore."
The chief's brow furrowed. "This morning? But she's been gone since early today. It's almost nightfall and she's still not back. The clinic door isn't even locked. I thought something was wrong, so I came to check if she was here with you."
Because Xu'er had episodes of fainting, Dr. Liang would often stop by the Huang house to check on him, sometimes staying for a meal. Just last week, he had fainted again. When he woke up, he'd run into the yard and stared at the moon, his face pale and drawn. Oddly, he hadn't passed out, but afterward, he was seized by inexplicable tremors and started speaking nonsense. The grandfather had asked Dr. Liang to make several house calls. With her now missing, the chief had naturally come to the Huangs' first.
"Gone since this morning?" The old man turned and stared at his grandson. "Xu'er!"
Xu'er stepped forward, his head lowered. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. I lied. I didn't go to see Dr. Liang this morning."
"You've learned to lie?" The old man's voice was sharp with anger and disbelief. His grandson had never lied to him before.
"I'm sorry," Xu'er said softly. "I'm really not sick anymore. I'm all better. Dr. Liang is so busy, and she has so much on her mind. I didn't want to be a bother."
"Not sick? That's for the doctor to decide, not you! I listened to that charlatan fortune-teller once, and it cost you years of proper care!" the grandfather exclaimed, his anger turning to guilt. In truth, Xu'er's conditions were congenital and untreatable; the cause of his fainting spells remained a mystery. Seeing a doctor earlier wouldn't have changed anything. But the grandfather carried the blame as his own. The weight grew heavier last week when Dr. Liang had quietly told him she suspected the boy might have a psychiatric condition. The news had crushed him, making him feel he had failed to raise his grandson properly.
Faced with his grandfather's outburst, Xu'er just smiled placidly and helped the old man to a chair. The agitation had left him breathless.
"Grandpa, you rest here," Xu'er said. "I'll go with Chief Evans to look for Dr. Liang. I may be slow, but I can run errands."
The old man, catching his breath, nodded. "Go. Dr. Liang has cared for you so many times; you owe her this. Evans, let the boy tag along. He can handle simple tasks. He's not that far gone. I just hope nothing's happened to the doctor…"
The chief nodded, and he and the boy left in a hurry.
They went door to door along the main road, but no one had seen her. A grown woman couldn't just vanish into thin air.
The neighbors grew concerned. "Did you try her phone?"
"Turned off," the chief said.
"Maybe she went back to her family's home?" someone suggested.
The chief shook his head. Dr. Liang was a graduate of a top medical university in the capital. No one knew why she'd chosen to work in their poor, remote village, but she was a good doctor and a kind person, well-liked in all the surrounding communities. She was a creature of habit. It was unthinkable that she would just disappear, especially leaving her clinic unlocked. Everyone suspected foul play.
Suddenly, a young police officer on a small motorcycle pulled up. "Uncle!" He was the local policeman, and the village chief was his uncle.
"Meng, you're alone?" the chief asked sternly.
"Dr. Liang has only been missing for a dozen hours, and she's an adult. It's not enough to file an official report. Maybe she just went out for the day?" Officer Meng said with a helpless shrug.
"Impossible," the chief insisted. "She would never leave without locking up. Something's wrong."
"I know, that's why I'm here to help, off the clock," Meng replied. He then noticed the boy standing beside his uncle. "Hey, Elias? You're out at night? Aren't you worried you'll faint?"
The young man shook his head. "I'm better now. The moon doesn't make me faint anymore."
"Really? That's great news!" Meng smiled.
The older villagers called the boy Xu'er. The younger generation mostly called him "dummy," though the kinder ones, like Meng, used his real name: Elias Huang. That was the name on his ID card.
He was born on March 25, 1993—Founder's Day. He was brought home from the hospital the same day he was born, and his grandfather, overjoyed, had lit incense at the founder's altar and given him a name. He wouldn't dare use the Founder's name, so he chose one that brushed against it: Xū, from the ancient name for the Founder's legendary birthplace, Xuānyuán Qiūxū—the Hills of Xuanyuan. His nickname became Xū'er, meaning "Son of the sacred hill," or more literally, "Son of the ruins."
In the village, names were chosen by the most learned or the most senior member of the family. The boy's father had no say in the matter. He hated the name Xū—a character that meant desolation, ruins, even a tomb. It felt terribly unlucky. But he didn't argue. Instead, when he went to register the birth, he secretly gave his son a different official name: Huang Jí. A name that meant "to reach the pinnacle," a name full of hope. The secret was kept until the boy was four, when his grandfather took him to the hospital and saw the name on his official documents for the first time.
Elias Huang was the name he used for school, the name on his ID. But his grandfather stubbornly clung to "Xu'er," and the older villagers, used to the nickname, never changed.
Officer Meng had been a soldier before joining the local police force. He had been the one to arrange for a car to take Elias home from school on the occasions he had fainted. He had always been kind to the boy from his hometown, often bringing him snacks. Hearing that Elias was no longer afraid of the moon, he was genuinely happy for him.
But right now, finding Dr. Liang was what mattered. Meng joined his uncle, and they continued their inquiries, house by house.
They canvassed the entire village. No one had seen Dr. Liang all day.
The chief wanted to check her house, even if it meant breaking the lock.
"We can't do that," Meng said firmly. "We don't even know for sure if she's missing. We can't just break into her home."
"What do you mean, 'not sure'? She's vanished! Maybe she was abducted!" the chief retorted.
"There are no witnesses, and she's been gone for less than a day. What if she had an emergency and went to the city? I can't let you break down her door. A professional like her values her privacy," Meng argued.
The group, now including several concerned neighbors, had arrived at the health clinic. The doctor's residence next door was locked, but the clinic itself was open. They went inside, searching for a note or any clue she might have left behind.
Elias didn't follow them in. He stood outside, his gaze fixed on the concrete path in front of the clinic. His eyes then tracked an invisible line, following it down the road and into the darkness.
"Five people…" he whispered, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. "Aaron, Mark, Luke, David… and Evelyn Liang. The doctor…"
He, the boy they called a dummy, could see what others could not. He could perceive what they would never sense. His mind was processing the scene, the faint traces left behind.
He looked away from the road, toward an old tree by the path. "And one more," he thought. "Leo. He's the witness."
Just then, Officer Meng emerged from the clinic, empty-handed. He saw Elias standing by the road, staring into space, and smiled faintly. He was used to seeing the boy zone out.
"You should head home and get some rest," Meng said, his tone gentle, as if speaking to a child. "I'm a police officer now. Leave this to me. I promise, Dr. Liang will be fine."
He knew Elias was fond of the doctor but figured he couldn't be of any real help. He just wanted to send the boy home.
But Elias looked up at him, his strange, ringed eyes clear and focused.
"Someone saw," he said.