Four days. Then the mountains.
He and Shao Rong rode in silence, steady and determined, dust rising behind them as they pressed forward. Shao Rong had been at Han Liang's side for years — his second-in-command, his most trusted companion on the road. Between them, silence had never needed filling
But this return felt different from the others.
Descending from the last hill, a long and wide green valley stretched before them.
The season had begun to shift toward early summer, yet the air remained pleasantly cool. A gentle breeze swayed the grass along the slopes, and the sky stretched clear and cloudless above.
Pomegranate orchards were halfway between blossom and fruit. Small green tips had begun to form, their soft fragrance spreading quietly across the valley. The village rested in the heart of it — houses of stone and wood, sloped roofs rising toward the sky, a watermill turning steadily by the river, pine trees swaying in the wind.
Children's laughter echoed across the open fields.
Han Liang narrowed his eyes slightly, watching the thin smoke rising from the chimneys.
"Home," he said quietly.
His chest filled with both peace and an inexplicable weight.
---
By the time they reached the village, they had already been seen.
A boy of no more than eight broke away from his mother and ran toward them first.
"Brother Liang is back!"
His voice carried across the whole street. Doors opened. Heads appeared at windows and garden gates. The women of the village came out to look — some with baskets still in hand, some with children trailing behind them. A few of the younger ones lingered longer than necessary near the road, their eyes following Han Liang as he rode past. Whispers passed between them, soft and quick.
He paid them no attention.
An old man near the well looked up, recognized him, and gave a slow nod — the kind that held years of quiet respect inside it.
The Han family was deeply respected here — the founders and protectors of the village. Many had been helped by them, and none spoke ill of their name.
At the gate, his mother appeared first.
"Han Liang! Is it really you, my son!"
Her voice trembled as she rushed forward. She embraced him tightly, her hands moving to his face.
"You've lost weight," she said softly, her eyes full
"I'm fine, Mother."
She pulled him close anyway.
His father stepped out soon after. Tall, broad-shouldered, still imposing with age — Han Xian looked at his youngest son for a long moment, then placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome home, son."
Han Liang met his eyes and nodded once. That was enough between them.
---
Shao Rong bowed slightly to the family and took his leave. He had his own home to return to, his own people waiting. The Han family accepted it with warmth — Shao Rong was no stranger here.
Han Liang had barely turned back toward the house when his brothers found him.
Han Jun arrived first. Broad-shouldered, unhurried, with their father's pale blue eyes — he pulled Han Liang into a grip that said everything he wouldn't.
"You look tired," Jun said.
"I'm fine."
"You always say that."
Han Ming appeared behind him, a step quicker and a shade lighter in everything. He grabbed Han Liang by the back of the neck the way he had since they were boys.
"Still alive, I see."
"You sound disappointed."
"I am disappointed. You were gone so long and that's the best greeting you have?"
A faint smile touched Han Liang's lips.
Jun shook his head. "Leave him alone. He just arrived."
"He can rest after dinner," Ming replied. "First, he has to answer questions."
From somewhere behind them, Han Qinghe appeared, pushing past Jun's shoulder and grabbing Han Liang's arm with both hands.
"Was it really that long? You look different. Did something happen? Jun wouldn't tell me anything — he said it was a mission, but what kind of mission takes that long and —"
"Qinghe," Jun said quietly.
She stopped. Then continued at a lower volume. "I have questions."
"Later," Han Liang said.
"Tonight?"
"Qinghe."
She made a sound of frustration but released his arm.
From across the courtyard, standing slightly apart from the noise, Han Liang noticed his cousin. Han Ai-Shi. Nineteen, quiet where Qinghe was loud, watching him with an expression she was trying hard to keep neutral. He gave her a brief nod.
She looked away quickly.
Jun closed his eyes briefly. Ming laughed.
Han Liang said nothing. But the faint smile remained a moment longer than usual.
---
After the greetings settled, Han Liang went inside to bathe.
The water was hot. The house around him was full of sound — his mother directing the kitchen, Qinghe arguing with someone, a child running down a corridor. After months of unfamiliar walls, the noise of this house felt like something solid. Something he could lean against.
When he finally lay down, the exhaustion of the journey settled into his body.
But his thoughts did not follow the quiet.
*What is Yuan Yu doing now?*
They had only been apart for four days, yet two full months of separation still lay ahead.
"I hope I can find him when I return," he murmured softly.
That evening, Han Liang entered the large gathering room.
A long table had been prepared — pomegranate wine, steamed bread, fresh meat, herb soup. Around twenty people sat together, their voices filling the room.
Han Ming refilled Han Liang's cup twice without being asked. Halfway through the first course, Han Qinghe leaned forward.
"How were the places you went?" she asked. "The towns, the roads — what were they like?"
"Fine," Han Liang said.
"That's all?"
"The roads were long. The towns were quiet."
Qinghe stared at him. "You were gone so long and you came back with fine and quiet?"
Ming covered his mouth with his cup.
Jun set down his chopsticks.
"We'll talk later," he said. His voice was calm, but there was a weight beneath it that closed the subject entirely. "Just the two of us."
Qinghe opened her mouth.
Jun looked at her.
She closed it.
The table moved on. Someone refilled wine. Han Feiyue's son, who had been eyeing Han Liang since the meal began, finally seized his moment and climbed into his lap without asking. He had his mother's eyes and his grandfather's stubbornness. He grabbed the edge of Han Liang's sleeve and tugged.
"Uncle Liang. Did you bring a sword?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I had no room."
The boy considered this with great seriousness, then tugged again.
"Next time bring one."
Han Ming laughed. Han Liang said nothing. He let the boy stay.
Laughter rose easily. The room felt full of life. Han Liang smiled, speaking and listening, letting himself be part of it.
Yet even in that warmth —
half of his heart remained elsewhere.
On Ying Mountain.