The widow's story does not stay hers for long.
By the next morning, it has spilled into the neighborhood like water breaking through a cracked wall.
She tells it at the communal well, where women gather with buckets balanced on hips and children linger nearby, pretending not to listen. Her voice shakes...not with fear this time, but with something brighter, almost fragile. She clutches the moon-carved stone tightly in both hands, as if letting go might cause it to vanish.
"I tell you, someone heard me," she insists, eyes shining. "I prayed at the abandoned temple. And the next day… justice came. Someone answered."
The stone catches the sunlight as she lifts it.
A smooth river pebble.
Pale gray.
On its surface, a crescent moon carved so cleanly it looks like it was born there.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
Some lean closer.
Most lean away.
Adults are practical creatures. They have learned, painfully, that believing too much only leads to disappointment.
"Coincidence," one man mutters, tightening the rope on his bucket.
"Assassin business," another says. "Officials make enemies."
"You prayed to a statue," a woman scoffs, though her eyes flicker toward the stone despite herself.
"Don't fill children's heads with nonsense," someone snaps. "The world doesn't work that way."
They shake their heads, laugh uneasily, and disperse...back to chores, back to routines, back to the safety of disbelief.
But one child does not move.
A thin boy stands near the well, barefoot on the worn stones. His clothes are patched and faded, sleeves too short for his arms. His face is sharp, thoughtful, with eyes far too observant for his age.
His name is Shen Mu.
While the adults scatter, Shen Mu stays close, pretending to adjust the rope on his bucket while his gaze never leaves the widow's hands.
The stone.
The crescent moon.
Not scratched.
Not chipped.
Deliberately carved.
Delicately placed.
His heart thumps hard against his ribs.
That isn't an accident.
He knows accidents. He knows rough edges, careless hands, things done in haste or cruelty.
This stone feels… intentional.
Something really answered her…?Someone heard?
The thought sends a strange warmth through his chest...quickly followed by fear, because hope is dangerous.
Shen Mu has a problem of his own.
A problem no adult wants to acknowledge.
His older sister, Shen Ling, is being targeted by a local debt collector everyone calls Uncle Zhang.
Their father borrowed money before he died...money meant for medicine that never worked. After that, everything collapsed quietly. Their mother fell ill and stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling more than she spoke. Shen Mu and his sister learned how to stretch rice thin, how to pretend hunger was normal.
They were surviving.
Barely.
Then Uncle Zhang came.
He arrived smiling, talking about "interest debt" no one had mentioned before. Numbers that grew every time Shen Mu asked for explanation.
He came every night.
Pounding on the door.
Shouting threats that cut through the walls.
He wanted Shen Ling to "work off the debt."
Everyone knew what kind of work that meant.
Neighbors whispered behind doors but never interfered. They kept their heads down. They pretended they didn't hear the shouting, didn't hear Shen Ling crying, didn't hear Shen Mu begging.
So when Shen Mu hears the widow say...
"My plea was answered at the abandoned temple."
...it hits him like lightning.
A temple that listens.
A spirit that helps the helpless.
A miracle that adults refuse to believe…
He believes it immediately.
Because children still know how to recognize hope when it stands in front of them.
If it answered her…
Maybe it will answer me too.
The Night Shen Ling Was Taken
Shen Mu blinks...and the memory slams into him, sudden and sharp.
Last night.
The crash of the front door.
The broom falling from its hook, clattering uselessly to the floor.
Shen Ling's scream...brief, muffled, cut off too quickly.
He had been in the corner of the room, half-asleep, counting cracks in the wall because it helped him forget hunger. He bolted upright and ran barefoot into the main room.
Two men were grabbing his sister by the arms.
Uncle Zhang stood behind them, lantern light stretching his grin into something monstrous.
"Repay your father's debt with labor," he said calmly, as if discussing groceries. "Be grateful we're giving you a place to work."
Shen Ling fought like a trapped animal, kicking wildly, nails clawing at the men's sleeves.
Shen Mu screamed.
The sound tore out of him before he knew what he was doing.
He threw himself forward, slamming into one of the men's legs.
But a single shove sent him flying.
His chin hit the ground hard.
The world exploded into white sparks.
He tasted blood.
By the time he scrambled back up, tears blurring his vision, the men were already dragging Shen Ling toward the door. One of them clamped a hand over her mouth as she struggled.
Uncle Zhang watched, arms folded, satisfied.
"Be grateful, girl," he said. "You'll work off your father's debt. There aren't many jobs left for people like you."
Shen Ling's eyes met Shen Mu's.
They were wide with terror...but also fierce.
She shook her head violently.
Don't come closer.Don't let them hurt you.
Shen Mu grabbed a stool and swung it wildly with all his strength.
"LET HER GO!"
The stool hit nothing.
One of the men turned and shoved him aside like an insect.
Shen Mu hit the floor again, air driven from his lungs so violently he couldn't even scream.
He watched helplessly as they dragged his sister out the door.
Her voice cracked through the night, cutting through his ringing ears.
"Mu! Stay inside! Please!"
The door slammed shut.
The sound echoed like a verdict.
Shen Mu staggered to his feet and ran after them, barefoot into the cold street. His feet slapped against stone, pain blooming with every step.
But the cart carrying his sister was already rolling away.
Lantern lights bobbed and shrank, swallowed by darkness toward the east district.
He ran until his legs gave out.
Until his chest burned.
Until the cart disappeared completely.
Then he collapsed in the street, fists pounding the ground as his cries turned into harsh, broken sobs.
The night did not answer him.
When Shen Mu went to the neighbors, his face streaked with dirt and tears, they would not meet his eyes.
"Oh, child… don't get involved."
"Your sister is paying a debt. There's nothing to be done."
"Uncle Zhang has powerful connections."
One adult leaned down and whispered, as if offering kindness:
"Better forget her. At least you're still alive."
Forget her?
The word burned.
Forget the only person who cooked for him, who braided his hair clumsily, who sang quietly at night when their mother's breathing sounded too shallow?
Forget his sister?
Shen Mu trembled.
His hands balled into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.
He refused.
Now, standing by the well, listening to the widow's trembling voice, something shifts inside him.
The adults laugh and walk away.
Shen Mu steps closer.
"Can I see it?" he asks quietly.
The widow looks down at him, surprised. For a moment she hesitates...then kneels and opens her hands.
The pebble rests there.
The crescent moon gleams softly.
Shen Mu doesn't touch it. He just looks.
"It was there this morning," she says softly. "Exactly where I left my offering."
"Did anyone else come?" Shen Mu asks.
She shakes her head. "No footprints. Nothing."
His heart pounds.
Not coincidence.
Not rumor.
Not nonsense.
That night, Shen Mu does not sleep.
He waits until the house is quiet, until his mother's breathing evens out, until the streets outside go still.
Then he slips out.
The abandoned temple is farther than he remembers. The path feels longer at night, shadows stretching strangely under moonlight.
When he reaches it, his knees shake...but he does not turn back.
The temple stands broken and silent, moonlight spilling through the collapsed roof.
The Suanni statue watches him.
Shen Mu kneels.
His hands press into the cool dirt.
"I don't have anything to offer," he whispers, voice barely sound. "I don't have coins. Or incense."
His throat tightens.
"But please," he says, bowing his head until his forehead touches the ground. "If you heard her… hear me too."
Tears drip into the dirt.
"Please bring my sister back."
The temple does not answer.
The moonlight does not change.
But Shen Mu stays there, kneeling, fists clenched, refusing to leave.
Because forgetting her is not an option.
Because if the world will not help him...
then he will believe in the one thing that might.