That morning started like any other, with chickens clucking too loud before the sun even rose proper, and Yun's mother shouting from the yard, "Xing Yun, don't be lazy, fetch the firewood before the neighbors laugh at us." Yun rubbed his eyes and stumbled out, hair still sticking every direction, thinking that one day he would grow strong enough to not be ordered about by chickens and firewood.

The air had that smell of damp soil, because snow had already melted in most corners, leaving behind mud here and there. He went into the small shed and tied a bundle of chopped wood on his back, heavier than he liked, then set off towards the outer road to carry it back to the house.

And then he saw it. A small cloud of dust far away, unusual because hardly anyone ever came this way. Starfall village was at the end of the road no one passed through, because there was nowhere else to go. Yun squinted, nearly dropped the wood, because a figure was walking slowly, step by step, from the bend of the road.

The person was a man, maybe in his thirties, wearing a grey robe that looked washed too many times, patched at the sleeve and with the color faded, the kind of robe you wear when you've traveled far and don't care much about looks. His boots were cracked, with dirt on them from who-knows-where, and he carried only a small bundle on his back. His hair was messy but his eyes… his eyes were not normal. They were sharp, like the eyes of someone who could see through walls or maybe through people.

The children playing near the roadside noticed him first. They stopped their game of tossing pebbles and shouted, "Someone's coming, someone's coming!" and ran to the village gate, giggling and shouting like they found treasure. In a place where days were all the same, even a stray goat would cause chatter, so a stranger was no small thing.

By the time Yun reached near the entrance, old Guo the village head was already there with two elders, arms crossed. Other villagers stood behind, whispering to each other like hens. Yun balanced his firewood and watched too.

The man stopped a little distance from them, then bowed once, polite but not overdoing it. "My name is Shen Yu," he said, voice calm, steady like still water. "I only seek food and a place to rest for a few days before I continue my road."

Old Guo frowned, beard trembling. "Our village is poor and small. Strangers seldom find anything here. But if you bring no harm, you can stay, we don't turn away hungry folk." His words sounded strict but his eyes were measuring.

That was it. The stranger was allowed. People muttered, some nodding, some not too happy.

Yun returned to his chores, though he kept looking back once or twice. The man Shen Yu walked in slow steps, not rushing, like he belonged here already.

Later that evening, after the fields and feeding the chickens and helping mother wash vegetables, Yun found most villagers gathered around the common fire. Shen Yu sat there too, quiet, a bowl of rice in his hand. He ate slow, almost like tasting each grain. The others laughed and talked but he only gave a small smile, not joining. His eyes moved sometimes, glancing at people, and once, Yun was sure, they stopped on him. It was quick, but enough that Yun felt his chest tighten. Why look at me? he thought. I'm just another boy here.

The next morning, Yun woke early. Shen Yu was already awake, standing near the well, looking up at the sky. Yun carried a bucket, still half-asleep, when the man suddenly said without turning, "The stars in this place… brighter than anywhere I've seen. You noticed?"

Yun blinked, almost spilling the bucket. "Uh… I don't know. I never paid attention," he mumbled, then hurried away, ears warm. He didn't like how the man's voice carried weight, like he said something normal but it meant more.

Days passed like that. Shen Yu helped patch roofs, fetched water, moved logs, like a normal guest earning his keep. But villagers still whispered. "Why is he here?" "Why at this time, after the bandits came?" "Why does he sometimes walk alone at night?"

Yun couldn't answer. But he did notice small things. The way Shen Yu's steps made no sound even on dry leaves. The way his eyes sometimes looked at the mountains, not like someone admiring nature, but like someone remembering something hidden there. And the way Yun's own skin prickled whenever the man happened to look at him, even for a moment.

That night, lying on his straw bed, Yun turned and turned, unable to sleep. He thought about firewood, about Liang's jokes, about the crops, about the stranger's eyes. He whispered, almost too soft for even himself, "Why do I feel… like he knows me?"

Outside, the wind carried faintly through the cracks of the house, and the stars blinked as if listening.

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