The seasons passed in quiet harmony, and with them, Cai Feiyin grew. No longer a fragile newborn, he was now a toddler with unsteady steps and bright, watchful eyes, abs the world with an iy that uled even his parents. His amethyst-grey gaze lingered lohan it should, as if always pting something beyond what was in front of him.

  At night, he dreamed, and in those dreams, he saw them. The Eight.

  He did not uand them, nor did they speak to him, but their presence remaiched into the fabric of his existence. Eaight, when he closed his eyes, their forms—unshaped yet absolute—filled his mind. And with each dream, he felt his thoughts bee clearer, his mind sharper, as if each vision chipped away at the fragility of infand left something stronger in its pce.

  But Feiyin did not speak of this. He did not yet have the words.

  Instead, he focused on what he did uand—the voices of his parents, the warmth of their presence, and the steady rhythm of their lives.

  Cai Feng, a warrior at heart, was a man of deliberate movement and strong presence. He spent his days training with the vilge militia, his weathered hands adjusting the grip of a spear or correg a poor stahough the vilge was small and distant from great sects and noble houses, he remained ever vigint.

  Yet, wheurned home, his sharp edges softened.

  It was subtle—the way his posture rexed when Mei Liao smiled at him, the way his usually cold grey eyes warmed whenever Feiyin crawled into his arms. He was not an expressive man, but in small, quiet ways, he showed his devotion.

  Feiyin, though young, noticed these things.

  Mei Liao was different from her husband in nearly every way. Where Cai Feng was rigid, disciplined, she was fluid, patient, and unfalteringly graceful. Even in a simple vilge, she moved like nobility, her hands never clumsy, her expressions always posed.

  She often hummed as she worked, her melodies soft and soothing, filling their small home with warmth. She spoke to Feiyin stantly, even when he could not yet respond, narrating her as as if she had all the time in the world to teach him.

  “And this,” she said one day as she plucked a herb from a wooden basket, “is ginger. It’s sharp oo warms the body when it’s cold.”

  Feiyin reached for it with chubby fingers, only to have it gently pulled away. “Ah, not yet, little one. You’ll find its taste quite unpleasant.”

  He pouted, a small furrow f between his brows. Mei Liao ughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead before setting the herb aside.

  Cai Feng, watg from the side, scoffed. “You’re raising him too softly.”

  “Oh?” She arched a brow, shifting Feiyin on her p. “What would you have me do? Throw him into the forest and see if he finds his way back?”

  Cai Feng snorted but said nothing more.

  It was during these moments, in the quiet between lessons and py, that Feiyin first began to uand nguage. Words drifted through his mind, f es, patterns—structure.

  At first, he could only listen. But listenio uanding, and uandio the first stirrings of speech.

  One day, as his mother sat by the river washing clothes, Feiyin climbed onto her p with surprisierminatiougged at her sleeve, his small fingers gripping the fabric as if demanding her full attention.

  Mei Liao looked down, amused. “What is it, little one?”

  Feiyin stared at her, his lips parting slightly, his brows furrowed in thought. His mind worked, f the right sounds, the right shapes.

  And then, in a quiet but deliberate voice, he said, “…Mommy.”

  The world stilled.

  Mei Liao’s eyes widehe cloth slipping from her grasp as she stared at him in stunned silence. Feiyin, fused by the sudden shift, reached for her face, his tiny firag her jaw.

  “…Mommy?” He repeated, hesitant but determined.

  A tremor passed through her lips before they curved into the softest, most radiant smile he had ever seen. Her arms ed around him, pulling him close, pressing her forehead against his as a warm ugh escaped her.

  “Yes, my love,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Mommy is here.”

  She held him for a long time, as if memorizing the moment, as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

  Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and paihe sky in hues of gold and violet, Mei Liao sat by the fire, a proud smile tugging at her lips as she looked at her husband.

  “He spoke today,” she announced.

  Cai Feng, who had been sharpening a bde at the table, paused mid-motion. His grey eyes flicked to his son, who sat on the floor, stag small stones with an unusual amount of focus for a child his age.

  “What did he say?”

  Mei Liao’s smile grew. “Mommy.”

  Cai Feng hummed, setting the bde aside. He stood, crossing the room in two strides before croug before Feiyin. His strong hands rested on his knees as he studied the child.

  “Say ‘Dad.’”

  Feiyin blinked up at him, tilting his head slightly.

  Cai Feng waited.

  The toddler pursed his lips, as if sidering, then looked away, deliberately ign him as he pced aone on his growing stack.

  Mei Liao burst into ughter.

  Cai Feng narrowed his eyes. “Brat.”

  Still, there was no irritation in his tone—only the ghost of amusement.

  The days tinued like this, marked by small yet meaningful moments.

  Feiyin’s words expanded slowly. He learo say ‘water’ when he was thirsty, ‘cold’ when the wind bit at his cheeks. He called for ‘Mommy’ whenever he needed fort, and though he still refused to say ‘Dad’ ht, he would tug at Cai Feng’s sleeve when he wanted his attention.

  Ae his grumbling, Cai Feng always answered.

  It wasn’t until weeks ter, when Feiyin ying outside, that it finally happened.

  Cai Feng was repairing the fence when Feiyin, who had been chasing after a butterfly, suddenly stumbled and fell. He let out a small cry, startled more than hurt, and instinctively reached out.

  “Dad!”

  Cai Feng froze.

  The air between them hung still, as if the entire world had gone silent just for him.

  Then, in a single breath, he set his tools aside and crossed the short distance, lifting Feiyin into his arms with an ease that belied his rough exterior.

  “You alright?” he asked, cheg for any signs of injury.

  Feiyin sniffled but nodded, his tiny hands clutg onto his father’s sleeve.

  Cai Feng exhaled, pressing a hand over the boy’s head. His lips twitched slightly.

  “Good.”

  Mei Liao, watg from the doorway, grinned. “Took him long enough.”

  Cai Feng gave her an unimpressed look, but there was something lighter in his expression, something only Feiyiing against his chest, could truly feel.

  Through it all, Feiyin grew—not just in body, but in uanding.

  His mother’s warmth became his first sense of safety, her presehe first thing he sought when uain.

  His father’s quiet strength became his first lesson in resiliehe unwavering force behind the small vilge that protected them.

  And though her of them could yet prehend the depth of the soul that had been reborn into their son, nor the visions that lingered in his mind when he slept, they knew ohing.

  Cai Feiyin was theirs, and they would raise him as best as they could.

  For now, that was enough.