The following morning, Shu Yan awoke with the lingering sensation of the river’s pull, like a thread gently drawing her back to its edge. Her dreams had been scattered fragments of memory, pieces of her childhood blurred by time but resurfacing now, vivid and insistent. She tried to hold onto the images, but they faded as quickly as they’d come.

She dressed quickly, feeling the strange energy of the day pressing her onward. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she needed to find, something the river wanted her to remember.

Downstairs, the inn was empty except for Grandmother Lin, who was already busy sweeping the floor, her movements steady and purposeful. Shu Yan approached, her steps tentative.

“Good morning, Grandmother Lin,” Shu Yan greeted, her voice soft.

The old woman looked up, a knowing smile softening her expression. “Back to the river again today, I see.”

Shu Yan managed a small laugh. “It feels like I don’t have much of a choice. The river… it’s like it’s calling me.”

Grandmother Lin paused, her gaze thoughtful. “The river remembers, Shu Yan. And sometimes, it chooses to remind us of things we’ve left behind.”

A chill ran through Shu Yan. She wanted to ask more, but something in Grandmother Lin’s eyes suggested that she already knew what lay beneath Shu Yan’s questions. Instead, she nodded, a silent understanding passing between them.

Before Shu Yan turned to leave, the old woman placed something into her hand—a small charm, intricately carved and cool to the touch.

“It’s a protection charm,” Grandmother Lin explained. “Keep it with you. You never know what you might stir up in places like the river.”

Shu Yan looked down at the charm, its spiral symbol faintly familiar, as though she had seen it somewhere before. She thanked Grandmother Lin, tucking the charm into her pocket before stepping out into the misty morning.

Shu Yan’s path led her back to the river, her steps quiet as she followed the narrow trail through the trees. The mist was thicker here, clinging to the branches and casting the landscape in an otherworldly light. She let her gaze drift over the trees and underbrush, her senses attuned to every shift in the fog.

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And then, she saw it—a small stone altar partially hidden by vines and moss, nestled at the river’s edge as though it had been waiting for her. Her breath caught. She couldn’t remember ever seeing this place before, yet it felt familiar, like a distant memory brushing against her consciousness.

Kneeling by the altar, Shu Yan let her fingers trace the stone’s surface, feeling the worn edges where countless hands must have rested before hers. Symbols were etched into the stone, faint and faded, but she could make out a spiral pattern—the same as the charm Grandmother Lin had given her.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander, and an image flickered to life: herself as a child, kneeling by the altar with her hands clasped in prayer, her parents standing beside her. Their faces were distant in her memory, blurred by time, but she remembered the quiet, solemnity in their expressions. They had whispered something to her, words she couldn’t quite grasp, but she felt the weight of them now, like a promise passed down through generations.

Opening her eyes, Shu Yan took a steadying breath, a strange sense of loss and belonging settling over her. This place held pieces of her past, fragments of a story she had only begun to uncover.

As Shu Yan stood to leave, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, quiet but deliberate. Turning, she saw Aowen, the wandering monk she’d seen around the village, watching her with an expression of calm curiosity.

“You’ve found it, haven’t you?” he said, his voice low and gentle.

Shu Yan nodded, feeling an unspoken connection between them. “I didn’t even know it was here… but it feels familiar, like I’ve been here before.”

Aowen’s gaze softened. “The river has a way of revealing what we’re ready to see. This altar… it’s a place of memory, of connection. Your family once guarded it, didn’t they?”

Shu Yan’s heart skipped a beat. “I think so. But no one ever told me.”

Aowen studied her, his expression unreadable. “Some bonds are stronger than words, Shu Yan. The river chose your family long ago, and even if that bond was broken, its memory remains.”

She looked down at the altar, her fingers brushing the cold stone. “What happened to that bond? Why did my family walk away?”

Aowen hesitated, his gaze turning distant. “Sometimes, people are drawn away by promises of a different life, one that doesn’t require sacrifice. But every choice has a consequence, and the river remembers each one.”

Shu Yan felt the weight of his words settle over her. She could sense that there was more to the story, a history woven into the river’s flow, waiting for her to uncover it. The river’s memory was like a thread, one that connected her to something beyond herself, something older and deeper than she had ever imagined.

As Shu Yan walked back toward the village, her mind swirled with questions, each one tinged with the strange familiarity of half-remembered dreams. She carried the image of the altar with her, feeling its presence linger like a quiet promise, a reminder of the past she was just beginning to reclaim.

The charm Grandmother Lin had given her pressed gently against her leg with each step, its weight grounding her. She wondered what protection it held, what unspoken power had been carved into its surface.

By the time she reached the village square, the sun was beginning to break through the mist, casting warm light over the quiet houses. Shu Yan took a deep breath, feeling the warmth settle over her, mingling with the cold, ancient memory of the river.

The river had chosen her family once, and now, it seemed to be choosing her. And as she looked out over the village, she knew that whatever journey lay ahead, it was one she could no longer walk away from.