The forest was quiet.
So quiet that the sound of each axe blow seemed to sink deep into the ground.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sun was setting. The long shadows of the trees stretched across the ground as if someone had slowly released the darkness.
Twelve-year-old Chen Wei stood in front of a thick log. His hands were blistered, his palms red, but his breathing…
steady.
Not fast. Not broken.
Between each blow, he paused.
Just for a moment.
As if listening for something.
Behind him stood his grandfather—Mu Shan.
An ordinary old woodcutter, stooped back, simple clothes, no special sparkle in his eyes.
But his gaze wasn't on Chen Wei's hands.
He was watching the rhythm of his breathing.
"Wei,"
His voice was heavy, but not harsh.
"You're not chopping wood."
Chen Wei paused. The axe remained suspended in midair.
"You're scaring it."
The boy said nothing.
"The axe is not your enemy," Mu Shan continued.
"Consider it a part of you. Find the empty space between the fibers of the wood…."
The wind blew.
The leaves on the trees rustled.
A bird chirped somewhere in the distance.
Chen Wei closed his eyes.
He began to breathe the way his grandfather had taught him when he couldn't even speak properly.
Not deep.
Not fast.
Just…empty.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Slowly, the wood ceased to be a solid object.
He began to feel cracks.
The empty space between the fibers.
Where there was no resistance.
He swung the axe.
This time there was no thud.
The axe passed through as if the wood hadn't even been there.
The shaft split in two.
For a moment, something flashed in Mu-Shan's eyes.
Not pride.
Not joy.
Just... satisfaction.
And then that too vanished.
"That's enough," he said.
"That's enough for today. Let's go home."
Chen-Wei nodded.
He picked up the axe and followed them.
The sun had completely set.
The darkness was thickening within the forest.
Mu-Shan looked back as she walked.
At her grandson.
At his straight back.
At his calm gait.
They said nothing.
But that evening, deep in the forest,
the echo of the axe lingered—
as if the beginning of something
that no one could yet name.