They walked home in silence.
Not the awkward kind that begged to be filled, but the kind that settled between them like morning mist—thin, quiet, and hard to notice until it wrapped around your ankles.
Mei followed half a step behind Tianlian, clutching the empty herb basket against her chest. Her gaze drifted often, lingering on shadows, on tree roots, on the ripple of water beside the path. She moved carefully, as if the world had suddenly grown sharper edges.
Tianlian noticed.
He always did.
Usually, Mei would have been talking nonstop by now. Complaining about Auntie Lan's loud mouth, about frogs jumping out of nowhere, about how the shrine definitely needed to be torn down before something crawled out of it. Today, though, she was quiet. Too quiet for someone who had just escaped something strange without getting hurt.
"You're unusually quiet," Tianlian said at last, glancing sideways. "Thinking about life?"
Mei shook her head almost immediately. "No."
"That was fast."
"…I'm just tired."
He hummed in response, unconvinced but unwilling to press.
They reached the small wooden bridge crossing the stream. The water below flowed gently, clear enough to see the smooth stones beneath. Sunlight reflected off the surface, turning it into something almost beautiful.
Tianlian slowed.
The stream again.
He hadn't meant to, but his feet stopped on their own. For a brief moment, the image overlapped with memory—cold water, tangled reeds, a small hand gripping mud-soaked roots with desperate strength.
Mei noticed his pause and stopped as well.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Tianlian stared at the water a heartbeat longer than necessary, then shook his head. "Nothing. Just… spacing out."
She studied his face, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but she didn't say anything more. Instead, she crossed the bridge quickly, as if eager to put distance between herself and the sound of flowing water.
Behind her, Tianlian exhaled slowly.
Back then, he'd thought finding her there was just bad luck. A child washed up by chance, saved by coincidence.
Now, the thought felt less comfortable.
When they returned home, Li Yingshu listened carefully as Tianlian described what they'd seen in the eastern field—the scorched markings, the faint pressure in the air, the way it felt wrong even after they left.
He didn't interrupt once.
That alone made Tianlian take the situation more seriously.
"A scorched pattern with no clear cause," Li Yingshu murmured, fingers tapping lightly against the table. "And you say it resembles what you felt near the shrine?"
"Yeah," Tianlian replied. "Not exactly the same, but close enough that I noticed."
Li Yingshu frowned. "I'll speak with the elders tonight."
Mei stiffened at the word elders.
It was subtle—just a slight tightening of her shoulders—but Tianlian caught it.
Always.
"If anything unusual happens," Li Yingshu continued, his tone gentle but firm, "you both stay inside. Especially you, Mei."
"Yes, Uncle," she answered obediently, lowering her head.
Her voice was calm, but her hands twisted the hem of her sleeve unconsciously.
After dinner, Li Yingshu left to meet the elders. The house felt larger without him, the quiet stretching thin and uneasy. Even the usual nighttime sounds seemed subdued, as if the village itself were holding its breath.
Mei sat on her bed, legs tucked beneath her, staring at the oil lamp near the window. The flame flickered softly, casting restless shadows along the wall.
Tianlian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You're still thinking about it."
Mei hesitated, then nodded. "It felt… wrong," she said quietly. "Like something was watching. Not just us. Everything."
"Yeah," Tianlian said after a pause. "I felt that too."
She hugged her knees closer. "I've been scared before. Bugs, storms, getting lost in the forest… but this was different."
He waited.
Mei searched for the right words. "It didn't feel like something new. It felt like something old. Like it was already inside me, and the shrine just… touched it."
Tianlian's expression sharpened.
Mei had been frightened before—by frogs jumping out of the grass, by gossiping aunties, by the usual chaos of village life. But this wasn't that.
This fear wasn't childish.
It felt instinctive. Ancient.
Like her body remembered something her memories didn't.
And that unsettled him more than he liked to admit.
"Do you remember anything from before?" he asked lightly, as if the question were casual. "Before the stream."
She shook her head, slower this time. "No. Grandma Yinhua said she found me after you brought me back. Said I was lucky to survive."
Her gaze lowered. "I don't even remember my parents."
Tianlian looked away.
Grandma Yinhua—the old woman from the neighboring village who had taken Mei in without hesitation. The one who claimed Mei had no past, no name, nothing but the clothes on her back and a stubborn grip on life.
Back then, Tianlian had thought it was kindness.
Now, he wasn't so sure what to think.
"You're fine," he said eventually. "Not remembering doesn't mean something's wrong. I forget stuff all the time."
Mei glanced at him. "Like what?"
"Like where I put my sandals this morning."
She sighed. "You left them on the roof."
"Exactly. Tragic."
A small smile tugged at her lips, and some of the tension eased—but it didn't disappear completely. Something lingered beneath the surface, quiet and watchful.
Later that night, when the house had gone still and Mei's breathing evened into sleep, Tianlian slipped outside.
The village lay wrapped in darkness, crickets chirping steadily as if nothing in the world had changed. He walked barefoot toward the stream, stopping where the grass met damp soil.
He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.
Not cultivating.
Just listening.
The faint presence he'd sensed earlier was still there—weak, scattered, like the echo of something that had already passed through. When he moved his hand through the air, the sensation shifted slightly in response.
Barely.
But enough.
"So it's not just the shrine," he murmured.
That meant whatever was stirring wasn't bound to one place.
His gaze drifted back toward the house, toward the window where Mei slept.
She was ordinary in every way that mattered. And yet, something about her felt… aligned. As if the same unseen current brushed against both of them, even if neither fully understood it yet.
He sighed quietly. "Looks like trouble found us early."
Far away, deep within the forest where roots strangled stone and old things slept beneath layers of earth, something stirred.
Not awake.
Not asleep.
Just aware enough to notice that two small ripples had appeared where none were meant to exist.
And the world, patient as it was, began to watch.