The late spring wind carried the scent of wild grasses and trees across the mountains, sweeping over the village road paved with bluestone.
Yunxi Village lay nestled in the folds of rolling mountains. Old moss crept over its blue-gray tiled eaves, clumps of dandelions grew at the bases of its rammed-earth courtyard walls, and even the air was steeped in an indescribable ancient wilderness.
Life here was like the stream behind the village, so slow one could count the pebbles beneath its waters.
The men carried hoes to the fields and bows into the mountains. The women sat in the courtyards twisting hemp or stood before their stoves simmering coarse-grain porridge. Even the dogs' barks held a gentle, unhurried air.
Murong Feiyan walked ahead carrying two wooden buckets, the firwood shoulder pole bending slightly beneath their weight as fine droplets splashed over the rims.
She had just come of age. Her coarse cloth dress had been washed pale, yet it was neatly pressed. Her black hair was twisted up with a wooden hairpin, revealing her smooth forehead.
Her six-year-old younger brother, Murong Xiao, followed behind. Like a fledgling sparrow fresh from the nest, he had bits of grass stuck to the hem of his blue jacket. One moment he would chase a pink butterfly far down the road, and the next he would squat by the roadside poking at ants, humming a nursery rhyme passed down by the village elders.
"Sis! Wait for me!"
Murong Xiao suddenly stopped, crouching before a clump of wild roses. With great care, his little hand pinched off a pink-and-white blossom, its petals still beaded with sparkling dew.
Clutching the flower, he ran over and raised his freckled little face, holding it out before Murong Feiyan. His eyes shone brightly. "Sis, this flower's so pretty!