In the autumn nights of the fifteenth year of Jianchang in Great Zhen, Bingzhou's rice and wheat had all been harvested. The fields were dotted with freshly bundled, solid straw stacks, square and neat like little houses standing across the farmland.
Another year of abundant harvest had come. In their spare time, farmers often lay atop those straw stacks to gaze at the stars, a pastime the people of Bingzhou had grown increasingly fond of in recent years.
The children lay on the straw stacks, watching the bright stars overhead. That beautiful river of stars was so intoxicating that they counted the stars, watched the silver radiance in the heavens, and searched for the stars the elders said belonged to them.
"Do you think there are boats sailing on that great river in the sky? If I could board one, I could find my own star!"
"Even if there were such boats, they'd be for immortals. How could it ever be your turn?"
"Where do you think our stars are? Are they in that Heavenly River?"
"My star must be the brightest one in there!"
"Mine is. Yours isn't as bright as mine."
"Mine's brighter!"
The children tussled and argued for a while, then gradually settled down and turned back to the beauty of the sky. Signs of change had appeared in the heavens long ago, but in recent years, a river of stars had become increasingly distinct, gradually stretching from Bingzhou across more than half of Great Zhen.
"Hey—Xiao Liang, it's getting late. Come home!"
An elder called from the edge of the fields, and one of the children atop the straw stack immediately sat upright.
"My mother called me. I have to go first."
"Then I should go too." "You're all leaving?"
"How boring!"
After the first child