A week has passed peacefully yet today's morning began with chaos.
A sharp cluck shattered the peace, followed by Xiao Wei's shout echoing through the yard.
"Brother Yu! The chicken's attacking me again!"
Liang Yu sat up in bed, hair wild, blanket half-tangled around his legs. For a brief, sleepy second, he wondered if the apocalypse had found him again—then came another shriek, and a blur of feathers flew past the open door.
He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the nearest thing—a pot lid—and stormed outside. "Xiao Wei, stop chasing it!"
"I wasn't! It bit me first!" the boy cried, holding up a scratched finger.
Xiao An, the quieter of the two, stood by the doorway, arms crossed like a miniature adult. "You shouted too much again. You scared it."
"I didn't!"
"Yes, you did."
The debate continued while the chicken strutted victoriously toward the vegetable patch, feathers puffed like a general returning from battle. Liang Yu sighed and rubbed his temple, barely managing to hide a laugh.
"So this," he muttered, "is what peace looks like—noisy, stubborn, and alive."
A deep voice behind him cut through the noise. "You said you'd take care of the house, not start a battlefield."
He turned. Feng Lian stood in the doorway, long hair tied loosely, a wooden cup in hand. His robe was plain but elegant, his expression unreadable.
"It's not my fault," Liang Yu protested, holding up the pot lid as evidence. "The chicken declared war first."
For a moment, something that looked suspiciously like a smile flickered in Feng Lian's eyes before he turned away. "Handle it before breakfast."
Liang Yu sighed dramatically. "Yes, General."
The children giggled. The mountain air carried their laughter away, bright and soft.
---
By the time breakfast was ready, the porridge had burnt slightly. Xiao Wei wrinkled his nose.
"It smells funny."
"That's mountain-style flavor," Liang Yu said with exaggerated seriousness.
Xiao An giggled. Feng Lian, who had just entered, took a bowl, tasted it without a word, and sat down. Only after a moment did he say, "Next time, try not to make the food fight back."
Liang Yu narrowed his eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Take it however you like," Feng Lian replied evenly. But the corner of his mouth twitched again before he looked away.
The teasing felt oddly comforting, like a thread weaving them together. In his old world, laughter had been rare; now it seemed to bloom around him like sunlight through leaves.
---
Later, while Feng Lian trained the children in the yard, Liang Yu sat on the porch, resting his chin on his knees. He watched them move through the motions—small fists striking the air, soft grunts, laughter when someone fell.
Feng Lian's movements were fluid, measured, almost beautiful in their precision. He wasn't teaching them to fight, not yet—just to balance, to move with strength and awareness.
Liang Yu's eyes followed him, admiration mixed with something quieter, warmer.
He moves like the wind, he thought. Solid, calm, impossible to catch. I used to think strength was only about surviving. Maybe here, it's something gentler.
When Xiao Wei stumbled and scraped his knee, Liang Yu rushed over instantly. "You okay? Let me see." He brushed the dirt away, whispering a small soothing word.
Before his eyes, the small cut seemed to stop bleeding faster than expected.
Feng Lian noticed. "You're too gentle," he said from where he stood. "Let him fall sometimes. Pain teaches, too."
Liang Yu looked up, meeting his gaze. "Maybe. But after the fall, someone should still help them stand."
For a long moment, Feng Lian said nothing. Then he simply nodded and turned back to the training. But something in his eyes had softened—a faint warmth hidden under that calm, unreadable surface.
---
By noon, the yard was quiet again. The children napped inside, curled together in a blanket pile. Liang Yu went to the stream behind the house to wash clothes.
The water was cool and clear, gliding over smooth stones. He hummed softly, a tune he half remembered from another world. As his hands moved, the stream rippled strangely—flowing faster, gentler, swirling in rhythm with his song.
He froze.
A small seedling nearby bent toward him, leaves trembling as if in greeting. He stared, unsure whether to feel amazed or afraid.
"Brother Yu!" Xiao An's voice startled him. She had come with a basket. Her wide eyes sparkled. "The water's dancing! You made it dance!"
Liang Yu forced a laugh. "No, no—it's just the wind playing tricks."
But Feng Lian was standing a little farther down the path, silently watching. The water calmed as Liang Yu turned, but the faint furrow in Feng Lian's brow didn't disappear.
No commoner can stir mana that way, he thought. Who exactly are you, Liang Yu?
Liang Yu felt his gaze and looked down quickly. The sunlight reflected off the water, bright and restless. He didn't yet understand the rules of this new world—its powers, its boundaries—but he could feel them breathing around him.
I need to learn, he thought. About this world, about these powers… and about him.
---
That evening, the cabin was warm with the smell of herbs and firewood. The children sat drowsily near the hearth, their small heads leaning against each other. Feng Lian repaired a wooden toy sword while Liang Yu mended a torn sleeve.
Outside, the twin moons had risen, silver and violet light spilling through the window.
"You've done well," Feng Lian said suddenly, eyes still on the toy in his hands. "The children laugh more since you came."
Liang Yu paused, needle in mid-air. "They're good kids. Anyone would love them."
"Not anyone."
The quiet words hung in the air like soft smoke.
Liang Yu looked at him—really looked. The calm man who carried the weight of two children, the house, and something unspoken in his eyes. Strength wrapped in silence.
He smiled faintly. "Then maybe… I'm doing something right."
Feng Lian gave no answer. But as he set the repaired toy aside, his gaze lingered for a second longer than usual.
The fire crackled softly. The night felt full of quiet things—trust, laughter, a slow weaving of hearts.
---
Later, when the house had fallen silent, Liang Yu stood by the window. The twin moons shimmered over the forest, bathing everything in gentle light.
He pressed a hand against the cool wooden frame and whispered to himself,
I thought I lost everything when I left my world. But maybe I was just being moved to where I was meant to start again.
His eyes drifted toward the children sleeping together, then to Feng Lian's shadow through the thin door. Something tender tightened in his chest.
I want to protect this.
He looked down at the small plant he'd kept on the windowsill—it had grown a little taller today, its leaves glowing faintly under the moons.
And I want to learn, he thought. About this world, its mana, its skies and beasts, its secrets and stories. I don't want to just live here—I want to belong.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of mountain air. The world here was strange, alive, full of mysteries and dangers he barely understood. Yet, for the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid.
Because now, when he reached out his hand, there were people to hold it back.