BEYOND THE MOUNTAIN

Morning arrived quietly in the Forgetting Village. A thin veil of mist rested over the river, drifting between wooden houses and beneath small bridges. Beyond the village stood the mountains — enormous, dark green slopes climbing toward the heavens, their peaks disappearing into white clouds. Waterfalls descended in long silver streams, their distant roar blending with the gentle flow of the river below. The river had always been there. It passed through the heart of the village, clear and peaceful, reflecting the sky and the houses along its banks. To the villagers, it was simply the river. They fetched water from it, washed clothes in it, and fished from it. They had no idea how important it would one day become, or what secrets slept beneath its calm surface. Inside a small wooden house beside the river, a twelve-year-old boy opened his eyes. His name was Lin Feng. He stared at the wooden ceiling for a long moment, listening to the river and the distant roosters. Then he pulled the thin blanket over his head. "Feng'er." A woman's voice came from outside the room. "Get up. The sun is already rising." "Just five more minutes, Mother." Footsteps approached the door. Lin Feng sat upright instantly, blanket falling. "I'm awake! I'm awake!" The wooden door opened. Mei Lian stood there with her arms folded — his mother. Her long black hair was tied simply behind her head, and she wore a plain brown robe that had been washed many times. Her face was gentle, but there was a firmness in her eyes that Lin Feng knew well. "You said five more minutes yesterday," she said. "Yesterday was different." "How was yesterday different?" "...I don't remember, but it was." "Get dressed. Your father is already outside. Don't forget your chores today." She left, closing the door softly. Lin Feng jumped out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. He wore a faded blue-gray robe with a red sash around his waist. One sleeve had been carefully repaired with smaller stitches — his mother's work. His shoes were thin cloth shoes, worn at the edges. His fingers brushed the small embroidered symbol near his left chest — an ancient, intricate symbol shaped like interlocking circles. His parents never explained it much. When he asked as a child, his father would only say, "It is our family mark. Keep it clean." He hurried outside. The mist still covered the river, and dewdrops hung on the roofs. Villagers were already heading to the fields with tools over their shoulders. Fishermen were preparing their small boats. Children were running and laughing near the bridge. Everything was peaceful, everything was the same as yesterday. But Lin Feng's eyes moved beyond the houses, beyond the river, beyond the line of trees — to the mountains. He did this every morning. Without thinking. Beyond those mountains was a world he knew only from the stories of occasional travelers who passed through the village. They spoke of large cities with markets that never slept, of warriors who could split stones, of roads that stretched for thousands of miles. He had never seen a cultivator in his life. To him, cultivators belonged to legends, like dragons. He didn't truly understand what cultivation meant, only that the world beyond was much larger than his village, and full of things he had never seen. One day, he wanted to see it with his own eyes. "You're staring at the mountains again." Lin Feng turned. Zhao Wei stood on the small bridge carrying two steamed buns in his hands, a mischievous grin on his face. Zhao Wei was his closest childhood friend. They had grown up together, playing beside the same river, getting scolded by the same elders. "I brought you breakfast," Zhao Wei said, holding out a bun. "Why?" Lin Feng asked suspiciously. "Can't I bring food for my best friend?" "You only bring food when you want something from me." Zhao Wei placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be hurt. "How could you think that of me? You wound me." Lin Feng laughed despite himself. Zhao Wei threw the bun, and Lin Feng caught it. It was still warm. They sat together beneath the old tree by the riverbank. The river reflected the pale morning sky, and small fish swam near the surface. "You're thinking about the mountains again," Zhao Wei said. "Don't you ever wonder what's out there? Beyond?" "Probably more mountains," Zhao Wei said. "Beyond those mountains." "Why do you always think about leaving?" "There has to be more," Lin Feng said quietly. "More than just this village. More than carrying firewood and fixing fences every day." "What's wrong with this village?" "Nothing. I love this place. My parents are here. You are here. But I want to see what else the world has. I don't want my whole life to be only this river and these mountains." Zhao Wei was silent for a moment, then nudged him. "You're strange, you know that?" "Maybe." "But someday, if you really go, don't forget me when you become a great person in the big city." "I won't," Lin Feng promised. "I'll bring you back something amazing." Neither of them knew how important those simple words would become in the years ahead. By midday, the mist was gone and the sun was bright. Lin Feng carried a large bundle of firewood on his back, his arms aching and sweat on his forehead. The bundle was too big — his mother had told him to take two trips, but he had wanted to prove he could do it at once. The bundle shifted. He stumbled forward. Before he could fall, Zhao Wei appeared beside him and grabbed part of the bundle. "You are stubborn like a mule," Zhao Wei said. "Then I'll be a stubborn mule that carries firewood." Together they carried it to Lin Feng's house. Lin Shan sat in the shade, repairing a farming tool. His hands were rough and weathered, his face lined from years of sun. He looked up and smiled when he saw them. "You carried all that yourself?" he asked Lin Feng. "Yes." "He refused help until he almost fell," Zhao Wei said. "Traitor," Lin Feng said. Lin Shan laughed and placed his large hand on Lin Feng's head. "You don't have to prove your strength every single day, Feng'er. Strength that is shown off too much becomes weakness." "One day I'll be stronger than you, Father." "Then you will have to work hard every day until then." Inside, Mei Lian called, "Lunch is ready." For a little while, the world was simple. Work, food, laughter, family. And the quiet dream resting in the heart of a boy who wanted to see beyond the mountains. Evening came. The sun sank behind the peaks, turning the sky from gold to orange to deep blue. Lanterns were lit along the riverbank, their light reflecting on the water. Lin Feng sat outside his house, watching stars appear one by one. Lin Shan came and sat beside him. "Father? Do you think someone like me can become important? Someone people remember?" "Why do you want people to remember you?" Lin Shan asked. "I don't want my whole life to pass without seeing anything. I don't want to be forgotten, like I was never here." "A man's life isn't decided by where he begins," Lin Shan said, looking at the mountains. "It is decided by what he does after he discovers where he truly wants to go. Never be ashamed of being born poor, Feng'er. Being poor is not the same as being worthless." Lin Feng nodded, holding those words tightly. Later, the village became silent. Lanterns went out. Inside his small room, Lin Feng was still awake, an oil lamp burning low. An old book was open on his knees — a gift from a traveler years ago. It had an illustration of a massive city with enormous walls, crowded streets, and a huge gate filled with people. He imagined himself walking through that gate. "One day. One day I'll go." Clink. He froze. He looked toward the window. Nothing but darkness and the sound of the river. Clink. Clearer this time, like metal tapping stone, coming from far away. He stood, opened the door, and stepped into the cold night air. The moon was high over the mountains. The village was asleep. Then, far beyond the village, deep among the mountains where no villager ever went — a faint red light appeared between the trees. It lasted only seconds, then vanished. "Lin Feng." He turned. His father stood in the doorway, his face tense. When Lin Shan's eyes followed Lin Feng's gaze toward the mountains, the color drained from his face. "I saw a light over there, Father. A red light." "Go inside," Lin Shan said quietly. "But—" "Inside, Feng'er." It was not anger. It was fear. A fear Lin Feng had never seen on his father's face. Before entering, Lin Feng looked back one last time. His father was still staring at the mountains, hands clenched. For the first time, Lin Feng understood — his father wasn't afraid of the mountains. He was afraid of what was hidden inside them. Far beneath the earth, where sunlight had not touched for hundreds of years, an ancient chamber lay buried in darkness. Massive stone pillars surrounded a vast circular formation carved into the floor. Dust covered everything. There was only stillness. Then, a faint red light appeared. One symbol on the formation illuminated. Then another. Then another. At the very center of the formation — the same symbol that was embroidered upon Lin Feng's robe. The formation trembled, dust falling from the pillars. An ancient voice, weak and almost forgotten by time, whispered in the darkness: "The bloodline... has awakened." The red light disappeared. The chamber returned to complete darkness and silence. Above the earth, the Forgetting Village continued sleeping peacefully. Lin Feng knew nothing about the chamber beneath the mountains. Nothing about his family's past. Nothing about the strange symbol he carried on his chest. Nothing about what was waiting beyond the mountains. He only knew he wanted to see the world. And someday, he would leave this village. But before that day came... the world would find him first.