The days after the raid blurred together. Life in Starfall Village never let anyone linger too long in fear or sorrow. The millet still needed weeding, they still had to fetch water, and roofs didn't repair themselves. Even the children, after a few nights of crying, quickly returned to their games, chasing each other barefoot through the dusty paths as if nothing had happened.

For Xing Yun, every morning began the same. His mother's sharp voice woke him before dawn, sometimes accompanied by the sound of a wooden ladle banging against the basin. "Up! The sun's not waiting for lazy bones."

He would groan and pull the thin blanket over his head, only for her to yank it away. By the time he finally got out of bed, Liang was usually already at the door, grinning widely, holding two baskets.

"Your mother said you'd need help," Liang announced one morning, without even asking if Yun wanted company.

"Help or just an extra hand to steal my food later?" Yun muttered, but he still took the basket.

The fields felt endless in the early morning. Dew clung to the stalks, dampening Yun's sleeves as he bent down to pull weeds. Liang, as usual, was no good at focusing. He would pluck a few weeds, toss them into his basket, then sigh loudly.

"Do you think the bandits will ever come back?" Liang asked suddenly.

Xing Yun froze for a second, his hand hovering over a stubborn root. "…Maybe. But we can't spend every day waiting for them."

Liang made a face. "I don't like it. My father says we should move closer to the city, where guards can protect us."

"And leave the fields? Leave our only home?" Yun shook his head. "Your father says a lot of things."

His words came out sharper than he intended. He quickly added, "Besides, the city isn't as nice as people think. Here, at least, we have each other."

Liang didn't argue after that. Instead, he started humming a tune, badly off-key, until Yun laughed despite himself.

By afternoon, the heat became oppressive. The boys carried buckets of water from the well, their arms aching from the effort. On the way back, they passed Grandma Mei sitting in the shade of her doorway, fanning herself. Her cloudy eyes seemed to follow Yun a little too long.

"Good boys," she said in her frail voice. "Working hard. That's how you survive."

Yun bowed politely, but as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to say more.

Evenings were quieter. After supper, Yun often slipped away to the edge of the village to sit alone. From there, he could see the horizon, the faint outline of the mountains, and the sky full of stars.

The stars had always brought him comfort. But lately, they also made him anxious. Every time he looked up, he felt like someone was watching him. It was a strange thought, one he never shared with Liang or his mother.

Sometimes, lying in the grass, he whispered questions.

"Why me? Why that night? Was it just luck?"

No one answered. The fields remained silent except for the crickets. Yet, each time, he felt the same faint tug in his chest, like a thread connecting him to something far away.

On the fourth night after the raid, the village gathered again, this time not for mourning but for mending. The men brought whatever tools they had to repair broken fences, while the women patched torn clothes. The children, laughing, ran errands between the adults, carrying nails or bundles of straw.

Yun helped the carpenter replace a broken beam in the well's roof. His hands blistered quickly, and the carpenter barked at him to hold the wood steady. It was tiring work, but by the time the lanterns lit up, the well stood strong again.

Everyone clapped and cheered as if it were a small festival. Even Yun smiled, though his arms throbbed from the effort.

That night, lying in bed, he thought: maybe this was enough. Maybe life could return to being ordinary, just like before.

But deep down, he knew it wouldn't stay that way.

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