The days that followed Scholar Wen's visit carried with them an uneasy silence. Though the man had left the village with nothing more than polite farewells, Old Man Zhao's expression had grown darker. He knew too well that men like Wen did not wander without reason. They were hunters, and hunters always left snares behind.
Li Wei, unaware of the true weight of his situation, continued to train in the subtle practices Zhao had shown him. He rose early with the dawn, breathing in rhythm with the waking earth, his small frame steady like a pine tree rooted against the wind. He played by the stream, not with the aim of splashing water like other children, but with intent to feel the current beneath his skin, to let it guide the flow of his breath.
To the villagers, his behavior was strange, almost unsettling. Some muttered that he was too serious for his age, too touched by things beyond their understanding. Mothers pulled their children back when he passed, whispering warnings. Yet others, those who remembered the star blazing in the sky the night he was born, watched with reverence, as though each step he took was marked by the heavens.
One evening, Madam Chen sat by the window, her hands red from washing clothes by the river. She gazed at her son, who sat in silence, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with measured breaths. He looked so small, so fragile, yet at times she felt as if she were staring at someone much older. Her heart tightened with both pride and fear.
"You must remain hidden," she whispered under her breath. "If the world sees you too soon, it will not forgive you."
But fate, ever relentless, was already at work.
The first true sign came with the arrival of strangers at the village gate. Three men, dressed in traveling robes that bore the faint insignia of a distant sect, walked through the dirt road with the confidence of wolves entering a sheepfold. They claimed to be scholars, seekers of old tales, yet their questions all circled back to one point: the child born under the falling star.
Old Man Zhao confronted them at the inn. His weathered face was calm, but his eyes carried steel. "Our village is poor," he said flatly. "We have no prodigies, no treasures. Only hungry mouths and tired backs. You waste your time here."
The men laughed politely, but their eyes betrayed their disbelief. One replied, "Old sir, it is said the heavens do not cast their signs lightly. If a star burned so brightly on that night, surely it must mean something."
Zhao leaned on his cane, stepping closer. "Meaning is for those who live long enough to see it. And you, strangers, will not find it here."
The air thickened between them, and though the men eventually turned away, Zhao knew their curiosity had only deepened.
That night, Zhao walked to Madam Chen's small home. The moonlight silvered his hair as he knocked softly on the worn wooden door. Chen greeted him with tired eyes, her worry already evident.
"They've come, haven't they?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Zhao nodded. "More will follow. The star that marked his birth shines brighter in memory than in the sky itself. Word has spread further than I feared."
Chen's hands clutched her son's shoulders protectively. "Then what must we do? He is only a child. He doesn't even understand what he is."
Zhao's gaze softened as he looked at Li Wei, who stared back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "He is more aware than you realize. But awareness is not enough. If we cannot hide him, then we must prepare him."
And so Li Wei's training deepened. Zhao no longer limited their lessons to breathing and sensing. He taught the boy how to move silently through the forest, how to listen not just with his ears but with the stillness of his heart. He placed pebbles in Li Wei's palms and told him to walk without letting them fall. He showed him how to hold a wooden stick as though it were a sword, not for striking, but for balance.
At first, Li Wei stumbled, his small body unaccustomed to the demands. But each failure only sharpened his resolve. The boy rose after every fall, his determination burning brighter than the bruises that marked his skin. Zhao saw in him a flame that would not be extinguished, a flame that belonged to something greater than the mortal world.
Yet shadows lengthened over the village. More strangers arrived, some dressed as merchants, others as wandering monks. Their words were honeyed, but their eyes lingered too long on the boy. Villagers began to grow fearful. Some urged Madam Chen to send her son away, to hide him before greater powers descended. Others accused her of bringing misfortune upon them all.
One bitter elder spat at her feet. "You should have left him to die that night. He is no blessing he is a curse that will burn us all."
Chen's palm struck the man across the face before she could stop herself. "My son is mine," she hissed, trembling with rage. "No curse. No mistake. He is life itself, and I will protect him with mine."
Her words silenced the crowd, but hatred smoldered beneath their fear.
The storm broke sooner than Zhao expected. One night, fire lit the horizon as a group of masked men descended upon the village. Their movements were swift, precise not bandits, but trained fighters. They searched homes, overturned carts, dragged crying villagers into the streets.
Madam Chen clutched Li Wei, her heart pounding as the sound of boots drew closer. Zhao burst into the room, his cane now a weapon in his hands. "Take him," he growled. "Run. Do not look back."
Chen's eyes widened. "What about you?"
"I am old," Zhao said simply. "But I still have teeth enough to bite."
Before she could protest, he shoved her toward the back door. "Go! If they take him, all of this will have been for nothing."
Li Wei's small voice cut through the chaos. "Teacher… Mother… I don't want to run."
Zhao crouched low, gripping his shoulders tightly. "You must. Someday, you will face them. But not tonight. Tonight, you must live."
Madam Chen and Li Wei fled through the forest, the sound of shouts echoing behind them. The boy clutched her hand, his heart torn between fear and anger. For the first time, he understood the truth his life was not his own. It belonged to something greater, something that others would kill to control.
Behind them, the village burned. Zhao stood alone in the flames, his figure like a lone pine against the storm. He fought with the strength of a man who had nothing left to lose, every swing of his cane a declaration: You will not have him.
But the attackers were many, and Zhao was only one.
By dawn, the village lay in ruin. Smoke curled into the sky, and the cries of the wounded echoed in the hollow streets. Madam Chen and Li Wei hid in a cave beyond the forest, trembling as the weight of silence pressed down.
Li Wei's small fists clenched tightly. "I will not let this happen again," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "If the world comes for me, then I will rise to meet it."
Madam Chen pulled him close, tears streaking her face. "Then you must rise with your heart, my son. Promise me you will not lose it."
And so, as the ashes of his village scattered into the wind, Li Wei's path turned sharper, harder. The gathering storm had only just begun.