The whispers in Li Village had grown louder with each passing week since the night of Li Wei's birth. What had once been cautious murmurs now spread like wildfire in the rice fields, in the crowded market, and even among children playing by the river.
"An omen," some said. "That star was no blessing. It was a warning."
Others muttered of demons, of calamities disguised as infants. In a village where survival depended on unity, fear became a poison. And soon, the Chen family stood at the edge of the people's patience.
One evening, when the red sun dipped low behind the mountains, the village elders gathered in the ancestral hall. Smoke from incense curled upward, carrying the scent of sandalwood and tension. Madam Chen was summoned to stand before them, Li Wei swaddled in her arms.
Elder Han, his long beard trembling with age, spoke gravely. "Chen Ling, the heavens sent a sign on the night of your son's birth. The fields have since withered, the rains have delayed. Do you not see the connection?"
Madam Chen tightened her grip on the child, her voice steady though her eyes glistened. "He is but a newborn. How can the sky's will be bound to him?"
"Because fate marks those who change the balance," another elder replied coldly. "And when fate marks, men must act."
From the crowd gathered outside came whispers, sharper than knives. "Send them away." "The boy will bring ruin." "Better he perish now than doom us all."
Even the children, too young to understand, repeated the words they heard from their parents, their small voices weaving a cruel chorus that struck Madam Chen's heart like arrows.
Some women turned their faces away, unwilling to meet Madam Chen's eyes, as if guilt itself might accuse them.
It was then that Li Shan, gaunt yet resolute, stepped forward. His body still bore the scars of endless labor, but his spine straightened with dignity.
"Enough!" he thundered, his voice shaking the hall. "This child is flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. You would cast out your own kin because of shadows in the sky?"
A hush fell. Elder Han's brow furrowed. "Li Shan, your loyalty blinds you. The village cannot shoulder the burden of heavenly wrath."
"Then I alone shall bear it," Li Shan retorted. He turned, spreading his arms wide as if to shield Madam Chen and Li Wei. "If you would cast them out, cast me out as well."
His words cut through the hall like steel, forcing even the boldest tongues into silence.
The silence grew heavier. Some elders shifted uneasily, unwilling to damn a man who had broken his body in service to the fields. But fear gnawed at them, and fear often spoke louder than gratitude.
In that moment, a cane tapped softly against the floor. Old Man Zhao, long thought broken by age, stepped into the hall. His cloudy eyes swept across the assembly, and for the first time in years, his voice carried like thunder.
"Fools," he rasped. "Do you truly believe a star would descend for nothing? That the heavens would stir themselves merely to curse a boy?"
Elder Han frowned. "Zhao, you meddle in what is no longer your concern."
"It has always been my concern," Zhao said, his frail frame trembling yet unyielding. "You fear calamity, but calamity is not avoided by slaughtering its vessel. You fear destiny, but destiny cannot be undone by weak men cowering in their hall."
Madam Chen bowed low, gratitude burning in her eyes, but Zhao did not look at her. His gaze fixed on the child in her arms.
For a fleeting instant, the infant's eyes opened, and Zhao felt a pulse ripple through the air like the silent beat of a great drum echoing from the heavens. It lasted only a moment, yet it was enough to send shivers racing through his bones.
A memory stirred in Zhao's mind, of an ancient prophecy whispered by his own master: "When the heavens bleed light, a child shall rise where none expected."
He turned back to the elders. "This boy is not a curse. He is a trial. And if Li Village cannot withstand the trial of one child, then we are already doomed."
The hall erupted into argument, voices colliding like clashing swords. Some elders agreed with Zhao, swayed by his conviction. Others demanded the Chen family's banishment. The villagers outside grew restless, their cries rising with the wind.
In the end, no decision was made that night. The elders dismissed the assembly, their fear and uncertainty unresolved.
Madam Chen returned home with her husband, her heart heavy but unbroken. She rocked Li Wei to sleep, whispering promises that her love would shield him from the world's cruelty.
Li Shan sat in silence, his hand gripping a worn farming hoe as though it were a weapon. For the first time, he realized that his family's survival might demand more than toil, it might demand defiance.
He stared at his calloused palms, rough from years of work, and wondered if they could one day wield more than just tools of the earth.
In his chest, anger warred with despair, yet both melted into a fierce determination to stand firm no matter the cost.
Even as the lanterns dimmed, Li Shan's shadow on the wall stood tall and unbending, a silent vow etched in the flickering light.
That night, the stars shone brighter than usual, each one a watchful eye peering down upon Li Village. The heavens remained silent, but silence itself felt like judgment.
From his dimly lit home, Old Man Zhao gazed toward the Chen household. His hands shook, not from weakness, but from the weight of knowing.
The wind rattled the wooden shutters, carrying with it whispers that seemed older than the village itself.The old man felt the world growing restless, as if the mountains and rivers themselves awaited the boy's first step on his true path.For all his years, he had never felt destiny so close, pressing down like a storm cloud heavy with thunder.
The village slept in uneasy silence, unaware that history had already shifted on this very night.
The village slept in uneasy silence, unaware that history had already shifted on this very night.
"The storm is coming," he murmured. "And the boy is its eye."