Spring warmed the earth with generous hands. The fields outside Qinghe Town shimmered with new wheat shoots, and children ran between rows of wild ginger, chasing dragonflies.
To most, it was a morning like any other.
But for Yun Long, something felt a little… different.
Not strange enough to scare. Not unusual enough to name.
Just different.
---
The sky was clear, but his eyes lingered on it longer than usual.
The dirt was warm, but he felt like something lay deeper beneath it.
The wind brushed past his ears — and for just a breath, he thought it whispered.
He didn't understand it.
So, he did what any seven-year-old would do.
He ignored it.
---
At the breakfast table, Old Yun poured himself a bowl of hot barley tea and tapped his chopsticks against the rim.
"The town is too quiet," he muttered.
Madam Su looked up from slicing vegetables. "That's good, isn't it?"
"Hm."
Old Yun sipped slowly. "Maybe."
He didn't mention the dreams he'd had the night before — the kind he hadn't dreamed since his younger days, when fire still lived in his hands and the world outside Qinghe had teeth.
He simply watched Yun Long chew noisily on a yam bun and said nothing more.
"its always been quiet anyways."
---
Later that morning, Yun Long wandered to the forest edge to collect fallen branches. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, forming speckled patterns on the moss.
There, he noticed something odd.
A single leaf — large and veined, still green and full of life — fell gently from a branch above… and before it touched the ground, it turned to ash.
Not brown. Not dry.
Ash. Grey and soft, crumbling as it touched the grass.
Yun Long blinked.
He reached out to poke it curiously, and it fell apart in his fingers.
He looked up at the tree, confused.
The other leaves swayed gently. Normal. Unchanged.
Maybe it was old. Or maybe it had been struck by something in the wind.
So he shrugged and moved on.
---
On his way back, a small bird — a mountain dove — landed on a fence post ahead.
It stared at him.
And didn't move.
Yun Long tilted his head.
The bird stayed perfectly still, its small black eyes fixed on him like a statue.
He stepped closer.
It didn't flee.
"Mom said that any beast in the forest can be dangerous, but you look friendly." he said to the bird.
And then, with a flutter, it was gone.
Yun Long scratched his head and resumed walking.
He didn't notice the feather that drifted behind him — one that shimmered faintly gold before fading to dull white.
---
That evening, as dusk fell, Old Yun stood outside the house smoking a thin pipe.
He watched the path to the north — the one rarely used — and frowned.
"Su Yan," he called inside.
"Hm?"
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Merchant caravan's coming."
Madam Su appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Strange, We had one just a month ago."
Old Yun nodded. "I know."
"But…" She paused. "No one said they were due."
"No."
A silence passed between them.
Yun Long, inside, lay sprawled out on the floor beside his straw chicken, drawing shapes in the dust.
---