Morning light spilled over the hills, turning the fields a soft gold. Dew still clung to the millet stalks, soaking Dai An's sleeves as he tugged weeds with quick and precise pulls. A few steps behind, Madam Yun worked steadily, her basket at her side, cutting and gathering greens with practiced ease.
"You're too rough," she called out, squinting at him. "Keep yanking like that and you'll tear the roots clean off."
Dai An scoffed, tilting his chin up with mock arrogance as he tossed a weed over his shoulder. "Faster this way. Besides, I'm doing this perfectly. I've mastered the art of pulling weeds."
Madam Yun shot him a flat look, her mouth twitching between annoyance and laughter. "Master of weeds, is it? What a glorious title to be proud of." She shook her head in disbelief, but still let out a warm laugh at the thought of it.
As the morning grew brighter, they continue to work in rhythm and neither seems to be able to keep quiet for long. Madam Yun grumbled about her back aching from too much bending and how easily she seemed to pull a muscle these days—half-joking that perhaps she really was getting old.
Dai An only laughed, teasing that she was far too energetic to ever grow old. He bent over as that remark nearly earned him a hoe to the face.
"Don't you think there've been a lot more travelers passing through the village lately? I keep seeing faces I don't recognize," Dai An said quickly, trying to change the subject and save himself from his mother's wrath.
Madam Yun frowned but only shrugged. "Really? I haven't been paying much attention."
"Not just that! They're rude, too. Just yesterday a whole group nearly ran me over, and not one of them bothered to apologize!" Dai An huffed, puffing himself up. "Town's folks, I'm telling you," he added, sounding like a grumpy old man.
Dai An's thoughts drifted back to the enrollment flyer. His gaze swept over the fields, stalks thin and slow to ripen, then to the houses with their sagging beams and peeling roofs. A few elders shuffled along the lane, their steps heavy, their voices low. He said nothing, but the village's weariness settled quietly on his chest.
He hesitated for a moment, then decided to bring up the topic again.
"Mother, I'm serious. I don't think the village can keep going like this. Sure, you and I are managing—you're still young, and I'm still a teen. But what about the elders? If anything were to happen, even I wouldn't be able to help them."
Madam Yun's jaw tightened, her hands working the weeds a little rougher than before.
"You said it yourself—you're still a teen. And that's exactly why I won't let you wander off to who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long." Her voice was caught between worry and irritation.
"I'm already fifteen! Some people my age are already married!" Dai An protested, puffing out his chest.
Madam Yun gave him a look of pure disbelief and raised her hoe like a weapon. "Married or not, you're not going anywhere. So stop with this nonsense."
Dai An jutted out his lip in an exaggerated pout, sulking as though the world had wronged him.
Madam Yun snorted. "Yes, very handsome. You look just like a toasted scarecrow."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dai An caught a flicker of movement. A little way down the path beyond their field, a woman was walking slowly, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Dai an squinted his eyes a bit. From that angle, he could see her face pretty clearly.
"Ah, look at that," he suddenly said "'ve never seen her before. Do you think she's new here?" Dai An asked, pointing toward the stranger.
Madam Yun followed his finger, frowned, then promptly swatted his hand down with an irritated snap.
"It's rude to point at people," she chided, turning back to her work.
"She's probably just a traveler, or visiting someone. Either way, you shouldn't trouble strangers—do you understand?" Her voice took on that stern, scolding edge.
"I'm not bothering anyone," Dai An muttered under his breath. For some reason, it felt like he'd been getting scolded nonstop today, and his ears were starting to burn from it.
****
The sun was dipping low when Dai An and Madam Yun finally made their way home. As they stepped onto the bridge, a frightening creak echoed beneath their feet. Both froze, exchanging a wary glance.
"I think the bridge might collapse," Dai An said, worry etched clearly across his face—not for themselves, but for the other villagers, especially the elderly.
"This old bridge we need to be careful," Madam Yun replied, her voice steady but tinged with concern.
They then crossed slowly, each step deliberate. As they walk away, Madam Yun didn't forget to warn a few passersby, calling out so they'd know the bridge might be unsafe and to avoid using it.
While Madam Yun headed home, Dai An dashed to the village head's house.
"Old Bao!" he shouted, spotting the elderly man lifting a few logs with his trembling hands.
"What's got you in such a hurry, little Dai?" Old Bao asked, squinting at him.
Dai An wasted no time explaining the dangerous state of the bridge, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Old Bao's eyes widened, and his jaw tightened. "Good god! We need to act fast." Without hesitation, he handed Dai An the tools he needed and called a few other villagers to help.
They moved quickly down the narrow path toward the bridge. Just as they rounded the last bend, a deafening crack split the air. Exchanging alarmed looks, they all ran forward—and just as they feared, the bridge had collapsed. Worse, someone was trapped beneath the wreckage.
Some villagers screamed for help, while others ran toward the wreckage. Dai An didn't wait. He immediately leapt into the shallow but swiftly flowing water, struggling to keep his footing as he waded through the current. Together with a few others, they lifted the wooden beams one by one until they found the elderly man pinned beneath the debris.
Dai An's heart raced as he helped drag the man out. His breaths came fast, the river biting at his legs, but he didn't falter. Around him, villagers shouted instructions, tried to keep the man stable, and did whatever they could—though none of them had proper knowledge.
The elder was badly hurt, every shallow movement and groan a stark reminder of how helpless they were without a proper healer nearby. Dai An's chest tightened as he realized that even all their effort might not be enough. He exchanged a look with Old Bao; no one seemed to know what to do.
Without a second thought, Dai An hoisted the man onto his back.
"I'll take him to the doctor in town," Dai An said hurriedly.
The villagers looked at each other. Dai An knew what was on their minds—how would he pay for it? But it didn't matter now. Without wasting another moment, Dai An set off toward the town.
****
The sky was already dark by the time Dai An staggered into the town, his back aching from the weight of the elder he carried. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he kept speaking in a low, steady voice to the injured man.
"Hold on, uncle. You'll be fine. Just a little longer. I promise."
He didn't stop to rest. Lanterns flickered along the narrow streets, shadows stretching long across the cobblestones as he hurried to the physician's house. Reaching the door, Dai An hammered his fist against it with all the desperation bottled in his chest.
"Doctor! Please, open up!"
It took several frantic knocks before the door creaked open. A weary-looking man peered out, brows furrowing at the sight of Dai An, mud-soaked and panting, with the bleeding elder slumped against him. Dai An's words tumbled out, broken and rushed.
"Bridge—collapsed—he's hurt bad—please, you have to help him!"
The doctor hesitated, eyes narrowing in concern but also in calculation. For one heart-stopping moment, Dai An feared he would be turned away. Then the man sighed sharply and stepped aside.
"Bring him in. Quickly."
Dai An laid the elder down inside, his hands trembling as he stepped back to let the doctor and his assistants work. The smell of herbs and smoke filled the room, and the soft, urgent rustle of cloth and tools replaced the pounding of Dai An's heart.
Unable to stay still, Dai An paced the narrow hallway, fingers clenched tight around the strap of his belt. Every muffled groan from inside made his stomach twist. He prayed silently, each step heavier than the last, until finally the door slid open.
The doctor stepped out, his face drawn but calmer than before.
"You brought him in just in time," he said, voice grave. "A little later and… he might not have survived the night."
Relief washed over Dai An like a wave, his knees nearly giving way beneath him. But it lasted only a moment—because then came the doctor's next words.
"Now. About the payment."
The words struck harder than any blow. Dai An froze, his mouth dry. He bowed his head, shame burning in his chest.
"I… I don't have it. Not now. Please… give me some time. I swear I'll pay you back."
The doctor's expression hardened. He looked Dai An up and down, clearly doubting the ragged boy's promises. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing. Then, at last, he waved a hand with a dismissive sigh.
"Fine. I'll treat him. But don't make me chase you down for what you owe."
Dai An let out a shaky breath, gratitude and humiliation warring in his chest. He wanted to stay by the elder's side, but the doctor stopped him at the door.
"He'll live. Leave him here—I'll care for him. You should go."
There was no room for argument. Dai An lingered for a heartbeat, then gave one final bow before stepping back into the cool night.
****
Now that he was alone, the night seemed to breathe around him, heavy and unyielding. Not a leaf stirred, not a cricket called, not even the whisper of wind touched the air—yet the cold bit sharply at his skin, crawling beneath his sleeves and burrowing into his bones. The stillness was so complete that every step he took across the ground sounded deafening, like a drum in a tomb. Yet Dai An noticed none of it; inside his head, a storm raged louder than the stillness around him.
Thoughts collided and spiraled, worries tipping into fears. Accidents, illnesses, missteps—every possibility was a blade pressing against his chest. He could feel the weight of the village in his mind, their helplessness, the fragility of their lives. He hated it—all of it—and he hated that he felt powerless to change it. Tonight had shown him the limits of luck and goodwill. He could not bear to watch anyone suffer while he stood idle, and he would never forgive himself if tragedy struck when he could still act.
When he finally returned to the village, he relayed what had happened to Old Bao and the others, his voice tight but composed.
"He'll be fine," he said, forcing calm into his tone, though a flicker of irritation surfaced.
"Just… everyone, be more careful from now on."
His words were measured, meant to steady others, but the effort left his chest heavy.
Once he was alone, the mask fell away. The worry returned in full force, wrapping around him like a shroud. His frown deepened, his steps slowing under the invisible burden.
When he finally stepped through his own door, he moved quietly, careful not to disturb even the floorboards, as if the night itself might break under his presence. He spoke to Madam Yun quietly, assuring her there was no need to worry, though his voice strained slightly under the effort.
Madam Yun watched him closely, sensing the storm that churned behind his gaze. This was no stranger to her—Dai An's fierce sense of duty, his tendency to shoulder burdens far heavier than he should—but tonight there was something sharper, more desperate, in his expression. As much as she wanted to, she decided to say nothing, letting him wrestle with his thoughts, knowing that only he could navigate the turmoil that would not settle until he had found a solution for himself.
The night rolled on slowly, but Dai An could not get a wink of sleep. His mind raced relentlessly, refusing to quiet itself. One thought kept surfacing above all others, the one that seems to wont let him go, keep pulling him towards them, its the memory of the flyer—the Xu Clan, the Jingzhe. If he could become one of them, perhaps he could earn enough to help rebuild the village, to improve the fields, the homes, and the lives of everyone he cared about.
From the corner of the room, Madam Yun had been watching him silently, her gaze tracing the tense lines of his young face. Finally, she spoke, her voice carrying the faintest hint of nagging.
"It's late. You should sleep," she said.
Dai An did not respond. His eyes remained fixed ahead, brows furrowed, unsatisfied, restless.
Sighing softly, Madam Yun crossed the room and crouched a little near him. "You've done everything you could. There's nothing more to do tonight."
For a long moment, Dai An stayed silent, shoulders tense. Then, with a firm, resolute voice, he said, "There's more I can do. There's always more to do."
Madam Yun's jaw tightened; a cold worry settled in her chest. She knew the determination in him—too familiar, too fierce—and she did not like where it might lead.
"We're lucky today the doctor allow us to pay later, but next time things might be different." Dai an mutter.
"I've been thinking," he said after a pause, finally turning to meet her gaze. "The Jingzhe… if I trained with them, I could earn money. Not just for us, but for the whole village. We could fix the fields, rebuild what's broken, pay for medicine, maybe even bring a proper healer closer to the village. I can't just sit and wait for accidents or illness to strike again."
Madam Yun said nothing, only watched him, her eyes glinting with something Dai An could not name. She studied the determination set in his jaw, the fire in his eyes. She did not interrupt.
Finally, she lowered her gaze and exhaled, letting a long sigh escape. "Sometimes," she said softly, a hint of sadness in her voice, "I wish you could put yourself first, just once. But… even I know that side of you—the part that won't let others suffer—is exactly the part that can change someone's life." She smiled, bittersweet, almost wistful.
Dai An frowned, feeling a flicker of embarrassment, but he shoved it aside. There was no time for hesitation now. This decision had to be made. He would not back down.
Madam Yun remained silent, eyes gazing at him helplessly. In her heart, she knew she could not stop him. All she could do was let him go, and hope that his determination would carry him safely through whatever path he had chosen.
"I understand." She quitely said.
****
The morning sun hadn't yet fully risen when Dai An packed the last of his things. His small bundle rattled with the few essentials he could carry, and he adjusted the strap nervously, glancing toward the door again and again.
"Are you done yet?" Madam Yun's voice rang sharp from the kitchen doorway, a frown tugging at her lips. "You'll trip over your own feet if you don't watch where you're going."
"I'm almost ready!" Dai An snapped back, though there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He adjusted his pack one last time, then bowed quickly to her. "I'll come back richer, I promise!"
Madam Yun's eyes softened for just a moment, but then she shook her head, pointing a finger at him like a warning. "Rich or not, don't get yourself killed! And don't think I won't come looking if you slack off."
By the time he stepped outside, word had spread. Villagers were gathering along the lane, some with curious smiles, others with worried frowns. Old Bao approached first, shuffling with his cane but keeping a watchful eye on the boy.
"So this is really happening, Dai An?" Old Bao said, his voice a mixture of pride and worry. "Off to train with the Jingzhe, huh?"
Dai An nodded. "Yes. I'll work hard and be rich!" His voice rang with confidence.
Old Bao chuckled, shaking his head, clearly endeared by the boy's determination. "But Jingzhe, huh?" He rubbed his white beard, frowning slightly. "They don't exactly have a good reputation among us Beiyue folks. Not to mention that particular Jingzhe"
A few of the older villagers exchanged knowing looks, shivering involuntarily as if recalling some long-forgotten horrors.
Madam Yun's eyes narrowed, and she quickly waved her hand. "Don't worry— not all Jingzhe are bad," she said firmly, her tone carrying unmistakable authority. "And definitely not my son," she added, wrapping an arm protectively around Dai An.
Old Bao let out a small laugh, clearly amused, as if Madam Yun's fiery temperament had been triggered.
"Of course not—our little Dai," he said, smiling warmly.
Dai An shifted slightly, as if something weighed on his mind.
"Old Bao," he said slowly, "about the doctor's fee…"
Old Bao waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that. We'll take care of it ourselves."
"You know, I could pinch some coi—" But before Dai an could finish, Madam Yun smacked him on the head.
"Ow! What was that for?!" he groaned, rubbing his head.
"You're about to travel far! Why would you give your money? It's barely enough for your journey!" Madam Yun started in on her usual nagging.
Everyone around couldn't help but laugh.
"She's right," Old Bao said, still chuckling.
Dai An scrunched up his face in protest, but he had no real retort—they were right.
As he moved down the path, the neighbors waved and handed him small packets of dried herbs or a loaf of bread. A few children ran alongside him briefly, giggling and shouting, then darting away shyly. Madam Yun followed, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Madam Yun scoffed, "thats the least you should do."
Once reached the edge of the village, he looked back one last time—at the familiar fields, the old houses, the faces of the people who had raised him, warned him, and trusted him.
Dai An shot a grin at Madam Yun. "I'll write! You don't get to nag me if I write!"
"Ha!" she snapped back. "Thats the least you should do."
She then took out her necklace and gently placed it around Dai An's neck.
"Wear this all the time. Don't lose it," she added, her tone slightly tense, though she tried to hide it.
Dai An frowned. "I didn't know you believed in this sort of thing, Mother," he said, half teasing.
Madam Yun smacked him again, this time gentler.
"Ah, seriously! Stop hitting me," Dai An complained, rubbing his head.
"Just wear it, okay? Not difficult," she said, crossing her arms firmly.
"Fine, fine," Dai An muttered, rubbing his head again.
He adjusted the necklace, feeling its weight against his chest—a small, tangible piece of home. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing back at Madam Yun, catching the faintest shadow of worry in her eyes. His chest tightened; leaving her and the village behind was harder than he had imagined.
With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders, masking the pang of anxiety with determination. One last glance, one final nod, and he set off on his journey, the cool morning air brushing against him as the village slowly receded behind him.