Dao Eternal

Morning arrived gently over Green Willow Village.

A thin veil of mist drifted across the fields, wrapping the valley in a pale blanket that slowly dissolved beneath the warmth of the rising sun. Dew clung to every blade of grass, sparkling like scattered pearls whenever the first rays of light touched the earth. The distant mountains stood silent beneath the endless sky, as they had for countless generations, watching over the small village nestled at their feet.

To the villagers, it was another ordinary day.

To fate, it was the beginning of the end.

Ye Chen rose before dawn, awakened by the familiar sound of his father's footsteps outside the house. The smell of freshly cooked millet porridge drifted through the room, accompanied by the crackling of burning firewood. For a brief moment, he remained lying on the wooden bed, listening to the peaceful sounds of his home.

His mother's gentle humming.

His father sharpening a sickle before heading to the fields.

The cheerful chirping of sparrows nesting beneath the roof.

Everything felt so ordinary that it was easy to believe such mornings would last forever.

After finishing breakfast, Ye Chen followed his father toward the fields carrying a bamboo basket almost half his own height. Along the narrow dirt path, villagers greeted one another with warm smiles, exchanging news about the weather and discussing which crops would be harvested first.

Old Liu, whose beard had turned completely white years ago, laughed heartily as he guided his stubborn ox through the fields.

"Ye Shan," he called out, "if your son keeps growing like this, he'll be stronger than you before long."

Ye Shan looked at Ye Chen's mud-covered clothes and chuckled.

"He still has much to learn."

Old Liu shook his head.

"Strength isn't measured only by muscles. That boy works harder than children twice his age."

Ye Chen lowered his head awkwardly while the two elders laughed.

Compliments always made him uncomfortable.

His father noticed and smiled without saying anything.

He understood his son well enough to know that praise never reached his head.

The morning passed peacefully.

Father and son worked side by side beneath the bright sky, loosening the soil around young rice plants while discussing small matters that most people would consider insignificant.

Whether the coming rains would arrive early.

Whether the old wooden bridge needed repairs.

Whether enough grain could be stored before winter.

Yet it was precisely those simple conversations that made life feel complete.

As the sun reached its highest point, Lin Yue arrived carrying lunch in a woven basket.

She scolded both of them for forgetting the time.

"If I leave you two alone," she sighed with a smile, "you'll work until sunset without eating."

Ye Shan laughed sheepishly.

"You know me too well."

The three of them sat beneath a broad willow tree overlooking the fields. Their meal consisted of steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and warm vegetable soup.

Nothing extravagant.

Nothing rare.

Yet as Ye Chen looked at his parents laughing over something as trivial as burnt bread from that morning, an unfamiliar thought crossed his mind.

Perhaps happiness had never required wealth.

Perhaps it had only required people willing to share simple moments together.

After lunch, his father lay against the tree trunk for a short rest while Lin Yue carefully mended a tear in Ye Chen's sleeve with practiced hands.

"You've grown again," she said softly. "I'll have to make you new clothes before winter."

Ye Chen smiled.

"I'll try not to tear these."

She laughed.

"I've heard that promise before."

For a while, no one spoke.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of ripening grain across the valley.

Birds circled lazily overhead.

Time itself seemed reluctant to move.

Far away, beyond the northern ridge, several crows suddenly took flight.

Their harsh cries echoed across the mountains before disappearing into the wind.

Ye Chen instinctively looked toward the distant forest.

The birds had not flown because of a passing predator.

They had fled all at once.

As though something had disturbed the entire woodland.

He frowned slightly.

His father noticed.

"What is it?"

"The birds."

Ye Shan glanced toward the ridge but saw nothing unusual.

"They're probably startled by wolves."

Perhaps.

Yet something deep within Ye Chen refused to settle.

It was not fear.

It was a quiet uneasiness that lingered in his heart without reason.

As evening approached, the family returned home together.

Children played happily along the village paths, chasing one another with wooden swords while pretending to be legendary martial heroes. Women chatted beside the village well, and smoke slowly rose from dozens of chimneys as families prepared their evening meals.

Green Willow Village looked exactly as it always had.

Peaceful.

Warm.

Alive.

No one noticed the fresh hoofprints hidden beneath fallen leaves on the northern mountain trail.

No one saw the broken branches where armed riders had passed only hours earlier.

And no one realized that, beneath the cover of darkness, a pair of cold eyes watched the village from the edge of the forest.

The scar-faced man remained motionless atop a rocky cliff overlooking the valley. His gaze swept calmly across the scattered houses before finally settling upon the lone dirt road leading into the village.

A younger man approached and bowed his head.

"Chief, shall we move tonight?"

The scar-faced man continued observing the village for several moments before replying.

"Not yet."

His voice was calm, almost emotionless.

"Let them sleep peacefully for one last night."

Below them, tiny lights gradually appeared as the villagers lit oil lamps inside their homes.

From this distance, they resembled stars scattered across the earth.

The scar-faced man watched them in silence.

Then he slowly turned away.

Tomorrow, those lights would no longer exist.