"Dummy."
That was what everyone called him.
Eyes wide open, the boy lay under a tattered quilt that barely kept the cold out. The ceiling above was made of dried grass and mud, cracked and flaking. The faint smell of damp rot lingered in the room. He was wrapped in an old cotton robe so worn down that its original color had long faded into a patchy yellow-brown.
Beside him, his older brother Han Zhu snored softly, lost in sleep.
A few steps away, the crumbling earthen wall had long given up the fight against time. Cracks spread across it like dead veins. Through them, he could hear his mother grumbling and his father puffing lazily on his bamboo pipe.
The boy slowly closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. He knew if he didn't rest now, he'd be useless at dawn, he wouldn't be able to wake up early, wouldn't be able to keep up with the other boys on their daily firewood run.
His name was Han Li. But only a few people ever called him that.
Most just called him "Dummy."
Not because he was dumb. Actually, he was probably the smartest kid in the whole village. He just happened to be quiet, more thoughtful than the others. That was enough for people to label him.
Names didn't mean much here. Other kids had names like Dog boy or Second Fool. "Dummy" wasn't even the worst of them.
Still, it stung. Even if he didn't show it.
Han Li didn't look like much, skin dark from working under the sun, hands rough and callused from helping around the house. But inside, he was different. His mind wandered far beyond the rice fields and dusty trails of the village. He often dreamed of the world outside, the one old Zhang spoke about, the bustling cities, towering walls, sky boats, and powerful martial sects.
He never dared tell anyone. What business did a ten-year-old village kid have dreaming of things even grown men couldn't imagine?
His family had seven mouths to feed. Two older brothers, a big sister, a younger sister, and his parents. He was the fourth in line. Food was never enough, clothes were always patched, and warmth was a luxury.
But still... he had dreams.
That night, he drifted to sleep with a small hope clutched tight in his chest. Tomorrow, if he could climb high enough on the mountain, he'd bring back a handful of red sugarberries, his little sister's favorite.
She always smiled when he brought her some.
And in this world, her smile was worth more than gold.