C7 - The Night Before
The village slept beneath a sky filled with stars.
From the windows of scattered cottages, the last traces of lamplight gradually faded until only the pale glow of the moon remained. A gentle breeze wandered through the valley, rustling the leaves of ancient willow trees before disappearing into the endless sea of grain that surrounded Green Willow Village.
It was a peaceful night.
The kind of night people remembered only after it was gone.
Inside the Ye family's modest home, the fire in the clay stove had almost burned out. The room was warm despite the cool mountain air, carrying the comforting scent of pinewood and freshly woven straw mats.
Lin Yue carefully folded a small set of clothes she had spent the evening sewing for Ye Chen. The sleeves were slightly longer than necessary.
"He'll grow into them," she said with a satisfied smile.
Ye Shan looked up from sharpening a sickle.
"You always make them too large."
"And every winter you tell me the same thing."
She smiled without lifting her eyes from the fabric.
"And every spring they're already too small."
Ye Shan laughed quietly.
"You always win."
The simple exchange filled the room with warmth.
Ye Chen, lying on his bed nearby, listened silently.
He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, yet every word reached him.
In his previous life, evenings had been consumed by the glow of computer screens, unfinished work, and the constant noise of the city. Conversations like these had become rare long before he realized how much they mattered.
Here, happiness existed in small moments.
A shared meal.
A repaired fence.
Fresh bread.
His mother's laughter.
His father's quiet pride.
They possessed little, yet lacked nothing that truly mattered.
Lin Yue finished folding the clothes and gently placed them beside Ye Chen's bed.
She brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead.
"He's growing so quickly."
Ye Shan nodded.
"Another few years and he'll be helping me with all the heavy work."
"You should let him remain a child while he still can."
The farmer's weathered face softened.
"I know."
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
The silence between husband and wife needed no words.
It was the silence of people who had endured difficult years together and no longer needed to explain what rested in their hearts.
Finally, Lin Yue broke it.
"Do you ever wonder what kind of man he'll become?"
Ye Shan looked toward the sleeping boy.
"I don't care whether he becomes rich."
His voice was steady.
"I don't care whether he becomes famous."
He paused before continuing.
"If he grows into someone who protects the weak, keeps his promises, and returns home with a clear conscience... then I'll have no regrets."
Those words sank deeply into Ye Chen's heart.
He wanted to open his eyes.
He wanted to promise his father that he would.
Instead, he remained still.
Some promises were better proven through actions than spoken aloud.
Outside, the village watchman slowly walked along the wooden fence carrying a lantern.
His footsteps echoed softly against the packed earth.
He had walked the same path every night for nearly fifteen years.
Nothing had ever happened.
Tonight seemed no different.
As he reached the northern gate, he paused.
The horses in a nearby stable had become restless.
Several oxen were standing instead of sleeping.
Even the village dogs, which usually barked at every unfamiliar sound, remained strangely silent.
The old watchman frowned.
He lifted the lantern higher and stared toward the forest.
The darkness beyond the trees seemed unusually dense.
Almost...
Alive.
He listened carefully.
Nothing.
Only the wind.
After several moments, he shook his head and continued his patrol.
"Old fool," he muttered to himself. "You're frightening yourself."
High above the valley, hidden among towering pines, another pair of eyes observed the village.
The scar-faced leader remained motionless upon his horse.
Behind him waited more than forty armed riders.
None spoke.
None moved.
Years of killing together had taught them the value of silence.
One of the younger men rode forward.
"Chief."
The leader did not turn.
"The scouts have returned."
"And?"
"The village has only a few hunting bows and farming tools. No trained guards."
The scar-faced man nodded slightly.
"Good."
The younger bandit hesitated before asking, "Do we attack before sunrise?"
For a long moment, the leader said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed upon the peaceful valley below.
Lights had gone out in every house.
Smoke no longer rose from the chimneys.
From this distance, the village looked almost beautiful.
Finally, he spoke.
"We move when the eastern sky begins to brighten."
"Why wait?"
"Because people dream deepest just before dawn."
His voice remained calm.
"They won't even know death has arrived."
A cold silence followed.
Even among the bandits, several men instinctively lowered their heads.
They had witnessed countless raids.
Yet something about this one felt different.
Not because of the village.
Because of the order.
No looting until every living person had been accounted for.
No prisoners.
No witnesses.
No exceptions.
The scar-faced leader slowly closed his eyes.
He had stopped questioning such orders years ago.
Questions kept a man awake.
Obedience kept him alive.
Far away, beyond the mountains and beyond mortal sight, the old fisherman sat beside the silent river beneath the ancient tree.
The fishing line remained untouched.
His weathered eyes reflected countless stars.
Then, without warning, the surface of the river rippled despite the absence of wind.
The old man sighed.
"So..."
His gaze drifted toward the distant horizon.
"It begins."
He slowly gathered his fishing rod and stood.
For the first time in countless years, he left the riverbank.
Behind him, the untouched fishing line continued to sway gently upon the dark water.
Ahead of him, destiny had already taken its first irreversible step.