The first rays of dawn stretched over the hills surrounding GuàiShuǐ Cūn, painting the misty valley in soft amber. The fog lingered above cobblestone paths, curling through the mossy gaps like it was reluctant to let the village awake. Somewhere, a rooster crowed, vibrating against wooden walls and tiled roofs. Water from the nearby river whispered over stones, cool and steady, carrying the faint scent of bamboo leaves.
Liang Yu stirred beneath a thin cotton blanket. The morning chill brushed against his skin as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The wooden floor beneath his bare feet was cool, a gentle reminder that spring mornings were still crisp.
"Yu, wake up," his mother called from the kitchen, her voice soft but firm. "Breakfast won't wait forever."
Yu rubbed his eyes, yawned, and tied his dark hair into a loose bun. His room was small: a low wooden bed, a table with dried herbs, and a window that looked out over the courtyard. A faint green of moss crept along the window sill, glistening in the early light.
Outside, the courtyard smelled faintly of ash from the previous night's fire. Birds stirred in the bamboo, while a few dogs lay in the corners, eyes half-closed. His father, Liang Zhen, sat on the edge of the porch, hands folded, watching quietly.
"Good morning, Father," Yu said, bowing slightly.
Zhen nodded faintly. That was all the greeting Yu expected.
His mother, Mei Lian, appeared with a bowl of steaming rice porridge. She placed it on the table and gestured for Yu to sit.
"You must eat before fetching water," she said. "And remember what Shang Qiu always says — the well is not a place for idleness."
Yu nodded and quickly ate the porridge. Its warmth spread through him, mixing with the faint herbal aroma of his mother's cooking. Then he grabbed a clay pot and stepped outside.
The well stood at the center of the village, dark stones slick with moss. Yu lowered the bucket into the cool water, feeling it pull as he drew it up. The river beyond murmured softly, flowing past the village in lazy bends, its waters bright under the rising sun.
By the riverbank, Hao Wei was crouched near the stepping stones, ready to splash anyone passing by. Lin Yue sat nearby, folding tiny leaf boats for their afternoon games. Yu ran toward them, laughing, and dipped his hands into the icy water.
"Careful, Yu!" Lin Yue warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement. Hao Wei, always mischievous, launched a splash of water at him. Yu stumbled, sputtered, then retaliated with a swift splash of his own.
After some time, they returned to the village. Yu helped Hao Wei collect firewood, and Lin Yue swept her courtyard nearby. The afternoon passed with small chores and laughter, climbing trees, chasing chickens, and running through narrow alleyways.
Evening came, soft and golden. Lanterns began to glow faintly outside homes. Families gathered to share meals, sweep courtyards, and speak quietly. Yu sat beside Lin Yue and Hao Wei, listening to Bao Hui, the village herbalist, recount tales of far-off mountains and distant merchants. Yu's imagination leapt with each story, though the world he knew — the village, the river, the bamboo groves — felt like the safest place in existence.
Night fell gradually. The river glimmered in the moonlight, lanterns swayed in the breeze, and the village grew quiet. Yu returned home, washed his hands, and sat for dinner with his parents. His father spoke little, but Yu felt the calm assurance in his presence. His mother smiled softly, guiding the conversation and keeping the home warm.
Later, as he lay beneath his thin blanket, the faint rustle of bamboo outside his window and the gentle flow of the river lulled him to sleep. He was Liang Yu, an ordinary boy in a quiet village, surrounded by family, friends, and the comforting rhythm of daily life. For now, that was