The carriage waited beneath the sky without warmth. Dust gathered around its wheels as though preparing for movement.
South Reed arranged itself at a distance that looked accidental. Three years ago, they had formed a circle around Yan and today, they formed space.
Liang noticed the difference.
Eleven years was old enough to notice edits. He had seen smoke that night. Seen hesitation. Seen one figure move forward when others measured the risk. That version did not survive retelling.
He stopped before the storage shed at Jiyan Fields and knocked once.
Silence for a moment.
“Who is it?” A young girl’s voice sounded from inside.
“It’s me.” Liang Answered.
The door opened a narrow crack. Gu Taner stood in the shadow, her face half-hidden.
“He’s leaving,” Liang said.
“I know.” Her voice was flat, as if she had already decided how she would feel.
“You should come.” He kept his voice low, urgent.
“No.” The word was quick, final.
“He saved us.” Liang pressed. “That day, he killed it, I saw it, he killed the beast and saved everyone"
“He killed Shui.” Taner’s voice cut through his words. “You didn’t see.”
“I saw enough,” Liang said, but even as he spoke, he knew it wasn’t true. He had seen the aftermath, the body, the silence. He had not seen the moment.
Taner’s jaw tightened. “You didn't, He killed Shui and he brought the beast,”
“No, They don’t talk about a lot of things.”Liang continued.
Liang hesitated as she was right. The village had chosen its story. A boy who killed his friend and the boy who lured the beast to the village.
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“He’ll leave alone,” Liang said finally.
“Good.”
The word came too quickly, too hard. Liang frowned.
“You don’t mean that.”
Her eyes shifted toward the square where the carriage waited. Then away. “Monsters don’t need farewells,” she said.
The door closed firmly.
Liang stood for a moment longer, staring at the warped wood, the rusted latch. Then he ran.
The Steward adjusted his gloves while Yan stood beside the carriage looking in the direction of Jiyan Fields.
When Liang arrived, the square altered slightly. He squeezed through the pack of adults and arrived at the very front, then his eyes looked at the person he came here to meet.
Liang stopped two steps from Yan. Up close, Yan did not look monstrous like the villagers described. He looked human just as Liang thought.
“You’re leaving,” Liang said.
“Yes.”
“They say you killed Shui and lured the beast” Liang did not know why he said it. It was not what he had meant to ask.
Yan did not answer.
“They don’t say you killed the beast.”
Yan’s gaze shifted to him. For a moment, Liang felt pinned.
“What do you want?” Yan asked.
Liang swallowed. The words came out before he could stop them. “I didn’t want you to go alone.”
Behind them, someone shifted. The Steward’s scroll rustled, but he did not look up.
Yan regarded the boy for a measured breath. “You should return home.”
“They say you bring bad luck.”
“They are correct.” Yan replied.
Liang frowned. He had heard the whispers, the warnings. He had repeated them himself, once. But standing here, he could not make himself believe them. “I don’t believe that,” he said.
Yan did not answer. Something flickered across his face.
The carriage door opened. “Servant,” the Steward said.
Yan stepped forward.
Liang spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out. “If you come back, they’ll have to say it properly.”
Yan paused.
“Say what?” , Yan asked.
“That you saved them.” Liang replied while looking at Yan.
Yan stood still for a moment and then he entered the carriage and the door shut.
The horses pulled, the wheels rotated.
South Reed loosened as people turned away first, folding back into their routines, their doors, their silence. Liang remained at the edge of the square, watching, until the carriage diminished into distance.
Inside, the wood creaked softly as the Wheels found rhythm. The Steward turned a page.
Yan watched the road through the narrow slit in the lacquered frame. Fields passed. Stone. A line of trees.
He did not look back. He did not need to.
The image remained: a boy standing two paces too close. “I didn’t want you to go alone.”
His breath shifted. Barely. Moisture gathered at the edge of his vision. He blinked once. It did not fall. He brushed it away with the back of his hand before anyone could see.
Then his fingers pressed lightly against the interior wall. “Liang,” he murmured.
The Steward did not look up.
South Reed dissolved behind dust and distance as the road stretched towards the north with trees.
Then the White text assembled against the darkness behind his eyes.
Mission Updated
Objective: Monitor Steward Zhao — Behavioral Deviation Detected
Failure Outcome: Unknown.
Yan tried looking outside where Zhao was sitting next to the driver.
Steward Zhao adjusted his sleeve. The page turned.
The carriage continued north towards the world that awaited.