The years passed quietly, measured not by calendars but by the changing colors of the fields.
When spring arrived, the earth softened beneath gentle rain, and the valley awakened from its winter slumber. Tender shoots pushed through the dark soil, streams flowed with renewed vigor, and the mountains surrounding the village became draped in countless shades of green. Summer brought endless fields of golden grain that swayed beneath warm winds, while autumn filled every household with the scent of freshly harvested rice. Winter, though harsh, gathered families around flickering hearths where stories passed from one generation to the next.
To everyone in Green Willow Village, these seasons were the rhythm of life.
To Ye Chen, they became the rhythm of a second chance.
By the time he reached the age of six, the memories of his previous life had become distant, like fragments of a dream that faded a little more with each passing year. He still remembered towering buildings, glowing screens, and rain-soaked streets, yet those memories no longer felt as though they belonged to him. The rough wooden house nestled at the edge of the village, the endless fields stretching toward the mountains, and the laughter of the people who called this place home had gradually become his reality.
His father, Ye Shan, was not a remarkable man. He possessed neither wealth nor influence, but no one in the village doubted his integrity. He rose before sunrise each morning, worked until the last light disappeared behind the western hills, and never complained about the hardships that accompanied a farmer's life.
His mother, Lin Yue, managed the household with quiet grace. Though their meals were often simple, she somehow ensured that no one left the table hungry. She had a habit of humming unfamiliar melodies while preparing food, songs that carried a warmth capable of making even the coldest evenings feel comforting.
They never spoke of greatness.
They spoke only of honesty, kindness, and perseverance.
"Land never betrays those who respect it," Ye Shan often said while placing a weathered hand upon the rich black soil. "It may not reward you immediately, but every seed remembers the effort of the one who planted it."
Those words settled deeply within Ye Chen's heart.
Every morning before the sun rose above the mountains, father and son walked together toward the fields carrying simple farming tools over their shoulders. The work was exhausting, especially for a child, yet Ye Chen never complained. Carrying heavy buckets from the river strengthened his arms. Turning stubborn earth with a wooden hoe tempered his endurance. Climbing the nearby hills to gather firewood improved his balance and agility without him even realizing it.
Although he had never learned martial arts, the discipline of farm life quietly shaped his body day after day.
One afternoon, while resting beneath the shade of an old willow tree, Ye Chen noticed an elderly traveler sitting beside the village well. His clothes were faded by years of wandering, and a bamboo hat concealed most of his face. Unlike ordinary travelers, the old man did not ask for food or water. Instead, he simply watched the villagers working beneath the scorching sun.
His gaze eventually settled upon Ye Chen.
"You carry water every day?" the old man asked with a faint smile.
Ye Chen nodded.
"My father says no one else should do work that I am capable of doing myself."
The old man chuckled softly.
"A simple answer."
He looked toward the endless fields before continuing.
"Tell me, child... what do you think is the strongest thing in this world?"
Ye Chen followed the old man's gaze. The mountains stood unmoving in the distance, rivers carved through valleys without rest, and countless stalks of rice bent beneath the wind before standing upright once again.
After a long moment of thought, he replied honestly.
"I don't know."
The old man seemed pleased by the answer.
"Good."
He rose slowly, dusted the dirt from his robes, and adjusted the bamboo hat shielding his eyes.
"Those who claim to know everything rarely understand anything."
Without another word, he walked toward the mountain path until his figure disappeared into the dense forest.
Ye Chen watched him leave, uncertain why the brief conversation lingered in his thoughts long after the stranger had vanished.
That evening, he mentioned the encounter to his father.
Ye Shan frowned slightly before glancing toward the distant mountains.
"Wandering cultivators occasionally pass through these lands," he said quietly. "People like us should show them respect, but never seek them out. Their world is different from ours."
"Cultivators?" Ye Chen repeated.
His father nodded.
"They are people who pursue strength beyond ordinary understanding. It is said they can split mountains with a single strike, ride the wind across the heavens, and live for centuries. But those are stories for children. Farmers like us have no place in such a world."
Ye Chen lowered his head and looked at his rough hands, still stained with soil from the day's work.
For reasons he could not explain, his heart stirred.
Not because he dreamed of becoming powerful.
But because, for the first time since arriving in this world, he realized there was a horizon beyond the mountains—a world far larger than the peaceful valley he called home.
As darkness settled over Green Willow Village, the distant peaks disappeared beneath the night sky, silent and mysterious, as though they guarded secrets that had endured since the beginning of time.
Ye Chen could not have known that those mountains were quietly watching him as well.