Setting Out Once More

Dawn was breaking, the eastern clouds tinged with a pale golden hue by the morning sun. The courtyard was still draped in a light mist, and the osmanthus leaves were covered with dew. As the morning breeze shook them down, they shattered into countless water stains on the flagstones. The air carried the fresh scent of earth and grass, peaceful and secure, completely different from the bloodshed of the valley a few days ago.

Ryan had already packed his knapsack, his shoulder wrapped thickly with cloth strips, his scabbard slung diagonally across his waist. He stood under the eaves, quietly watching the familiar sight in the courtyard. The stone stool was still placed under the osmanthus tree, and on the table lay the wooden sword his little sister had left behind while playing yesterday. That youthful innocence formed a sharp contrast with the scars on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, knowing that after this parting, he had no idea how long it would be before he could return.

His mother had already risen, her eyes carrying exhaustion yet no complaint. She was carefully stuffing the dry rations and medicinal herbs prepared last night into the knapsack, her movements swift and repetitive as if she were terrified of missing something. She kept nagging him endlessly: Change your dressing once a day; don't drag it out when you're hungry, even if you can only manage a few bites. If your clothes get ruined, don't mind the trouble—patch them up yourself. When you encounter danger, save your life first; don't always think about pushing through.

Her tone was urgent, as if she wanted to tell him everything she had failed to say over the past few years all in one breath.

Ryan stepped forward, reached out to press down on her