The days after the raid settled back into a rhythm so familiar that sometimes Xing Yun almost forgot it had happened. The broken fences were repaired, the damaged roofs were fixed, and even the ashes from the burned homes were swept away. Life in Starfall Village always resumed its normal pace because it had no other option.

Xing Yun woke up the same way he always did: his mother's voice called sharply from outside the door.

"Yun! Don't sleep till the sun climbs over your head! The weeds don't wait for dreamers."

He rubbed his eyes, groaned, and sat up slowly. His back felt stiff, and his palms were rough from chopping wood the day before. For a moment, he stared at the roof beams above his bed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else, somewhere where mornings didn't start with scolding voices and endless work. But that thought quickly faded. This was his life.

He splashed cold water on his face from the basin and nibbled on a hard piece of flatbread for breakfast. Liang was already waiting outside, leaning against the wall with a half-eaten bun in his mouth.

"You're slow as always," Liang said with his mouth full. "One day I'll die of old age before you come out."

"Then I'll have peace at last," Yun muttered with a smile.

They set off toward the fields with baskets in hand. The morning was cool, the sky filled with pale light, and the fields spread green and wide. Birds swooped low, chirping, as if teasing the two boys for their slow pace.

Work in the fields felt never-ending. They had to pull weeds, loosen the soil, and check the stalks. Yun bent down, his hands sinking into the cool dirt. Liang, of course, grew restless quickly. He worked for a while before throwing himself onto the ground with a dramatic sigh.

"This is torture," Liang groaned. "Why can't I be born rich? Then I'd sit in a big house and have servants pull weeds for me."

"You'd still complain," Yun said flatly, tugging at a stubborn root.

"I'd complain while sitting on silk cushions, though," Liang replied, grinning.

Despite himself, Yun laughed. It felt strange and light after so many heavy days.

As they worked, a few other villagers passed by. Auntie Rong carried a basket of vegetables, calling for her son to stop chasing chickens. A group of children ran through the paths between the fields, laughing so loudly that the crows flew off in irritation.

Life was loud again. Ordinary again.

At noon, the boys rested under the shade of a tree, sharing a bowl of rice and a little salted fish that Liang had "borrowed" from his kitchen. Yun shook his head but ate anyway. Hunger made even stolen food taste better.

"Do you ever think we'll leave this place?" Liang asked suddenly, staring up at the branches.

Yun paused. "Leave? Why?"

"To see the world," Liang said, his voice dreamy. "The cities, the mountains, the rivers… maybe even heroes like in the stories."

Yun frowned slightly. "Stories are stories. Out there, life is probably harder than here."

"Maybe," Liang said, rolling onto his side. "But I'd still like to see it once. Even if it's harder."

Yun didn't answer. He picked up his stick and stirred the dirt at his feet. A part of him wanted to laugh it off, but another part, quiet and buried, wondered the same thing.

The afternoon dragged with more work. By the time the sun began to set, Yun's arms and back ached, his skin sticky with sweat. He carried the last bucket of water back toward the village, his shoulders trembling under the weight.

As he passed Grandma Mei's house, she called out softly.

"Yun."

He stopped, turning. The old woman sat in her doorway, her cane resting across her knees. Her eyes were cloudy with age, but sharp at the same time.

"You've grown," she said simply. "Stronger than before."

Yun scratched his head, feeling embarrassed. "It's just the work."

"Mm," she murmured, though her gaze lingered a moment longer than felt comfortable. "Don't forget, boy. The stars are always watching."

Yun blinked. "What?"

But Grandma Mei only waved her hand. "Go on. Your mother will be waiting."

Confused, Yun continued walking. Her words echoed faintly in his mind even as he set the bucket down by his house.

That night, after supper, Yun slipped away again to the fields. He lay down on the grass, staring at the wide sky above. The stars were countless, glittering like spilled grains of rice.

He thought about Liang's words, about Grandma Mei's strange comment, about that night when the bandit's sword had shattered. He told himself it was nothing. Just imagination. Just chance.

"Ordinary," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. "That's all I am."

But the stars above seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if disagreeing with him

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