At daybreak, the village stirred to life with the usual chorus of voices and clattering pots. Merchants arranged their carts on the main road, hoping to sell flour or cloth to neighbors in need. Children trotted to the well, grumbling about early chores. Dogs barked at stray cats skulking near half-open doors. Yet amid these ordinary scenes, a sense of hushed curiosity lingered, directed at one quiet figure.

Shen Mu left his small home just after sunrise. He carried a modest fishing net over one shoulder and a small pouch of bait in the other, ready to make his way to the stream at the forest’s edge. A few villagers greeted him as he passed.

“Off to fish, Shen Mu?” asked Old Chen, the baker, who stood at his stall, arranging freshly baked buns.

“Yes,” Shen Mu replied softly. His voice, calm and level, revealed nothing of the strange tension inside him.

Old Chen gave him a thoughtful look, then returned to stacking his wares, as if there was nothing else to be said.

Children darted around Shen Mu in a game of tag, but their wild laughter quieted when they spotted him. They paused, exchanged quick glances, and scampered off. It was not fear, exactly—more like a faint unease they could not name. Shen Mu noticed the shift in their expressions but said nothing. He simply continued along the dirt path, stepping aside to let a pig herder pass.

“Morning,” the herder mumbled.

Shen Mu nodded. Something about the herder’s posture suggested that he was about to say more, but perhaps he thought better of it and hurried on.

As Shen Mu reached the outskirts of the village, the air grew cooler. Dew still clung to the grass. He paused briefly, gazing at the cluster of huts he was leaving behind. A low mist curled at ground level, wrapping the homes in a gentle haze. Nothing seemed obviously different, yet Shen Mu could sense something intangible, an echo of the crack that had split the sky just days before.

He walked until the path gave way to a narrow stream that wound between mossy rocks. This spot was quiet, tucked under the looming shadow of ancient trees. Setting down his fishing net, Shen Mu crouched near the water’s edge and let his fingers drift through the rippling current. The cool sensation calmed him.

In his mind’s eye, he still recalled those fleeting flashes of color and shape that had assaulted him atop the bell tower. He could not describe them, nor could he erase them from his thoughts. Every now and then, a soft hum in his chest reminded him that he had witnessed something beyond normal sight.

Shaking off the sensation, he cast the net into the stream. It spread in a graceful arc, then plunged into the water with a light splash.

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“Shen Mu.”

He turned to see a girl from the village, Li Mei, standing a few steps away. Her hair was pulled back in two uneven braids, and she clutched a small basket. “I came to gather herbs,” she said, offering a shy smile. “I didn’t expect to find you here so early.”

Shen Mu inclined his head in greeting. “It’s peaceful at this time.”

She hesitated, eyes drifting to the net. “Everyone has been talking about you,” she confessed in a low voice. “They say you’ve been… different since that night. You haven’t done anything strange, have you?”

He studied her for a moment. “Strange?” His voice held no accusation, just curiosity.

Li Mei shuffled her feet. “You know… unusual feelings, odd sightings, that sort of thing.” She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “It’s just rumors, of course.”

Shen Mu glanced at the stream. He remembered the crack, the swirl of incomprehensible shapes and colors. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes. “I’ve seen nothing that would alarm anyone,” he replied eventually.

For a heartbeat, Li Mei looked relieved, then uncertain again. “Well, if you do see anything… or need help… let someone know.”

Her words hung in the damp morning air. Shen Mu offered a faint nod, and she headed off to collect her herbs, her steps brisk as though she wanted to say more but lacked the nerve.

He returned to his fishing, but the day’s stillness felt charged. Even the subtle currents in the water hinted at an unseen tension. The morning sun climbed higher, warming his back. An hour passed, and he pulled in the net, revealing a few small fish glinting in the weak light. Enough for a modest meal.

As he stood to go, a rustling in the nearby bushes caught his ear. A fox emerged, its coat sleek and fiery against the greenery. The creature paused, staring directly at Shen Mu. Normally, foxes fled at the faintest human presence, but this one held its ground. Shen Mu did not move either, though his heart gave a strange lurch. He felt the animal’s gaze, as if it carried the weight of some silent question. Then the fox turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.

He exhaled, the tension in his chest easing. Something about that encounter unsettled him in a way he could not define. Yet it also felt oddly… familiar. He gathered his net and fish, heading back toward the village.

On the way, he passed by two elders. They paused in their talk and watched him with interest, as if trying to decide if they should say something. Eventually, one of them called out, “Young man, come here for a moment.”

Shen Mu obliged, approaching them with polite curiosity. “Yes?”

“Have you heard any strange tales lately?” The elder’s voice was calm, yet his eyes held a pointed curiosity. “Sometimes travelers bring odd stories.”

Shen Mu sensed the subtext. They were fishing for clues, worried about the rumors swirling around him. He shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything that would concern you.”

The elder nodded, satisfied or perhaps just resigned. “All right, then. Go on with your day.”

He continued toward home, wondering why everyone seemed so cautious around him now. The village was still the same—rustic, warm, full of life—yet shadows of doubt had formed in the corners of every conversation.

Returning to his small house, he set down his catch and stepped inside, noting how the usual comfort of the place felt just a shade off. He glanced at the old wooden window frame, the table where he ate his meals, the cot where he slept. Nothing had changed, not really. Yet his awareness had deepened in a way he could not explain.

Sitting near the doorway, he closed his eyes. Memories of that impossible fracture in the sky flooded back, flickers of alien shapes crowding his thoughts. He had tried to forget, to carry on as before, but every moment seemed charged with the echo of that event.

He wanted answers, but did not know where to seek them. He wanted to explain it to someone, but he lacked the words. So he sat, silent, listening to the village bustle outside, and waited for a sign he could not name.

Morning stretched into midday, and Shen Mu remained lost in quiet reflection, every sound of the village slipping through his mind like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. Despite the calm of the day, he sensed that everything had changed, even if no one else realized it yet.