The day unfolded as it always did. Merchants called out prices for their wares, children darted between homes, and farmers busied themselves tending to their fields. The village remained unchanged, yet for Shen Mu, a subtle shift lingered in the air.

The sensation from the orchard still rested at the edges of his mind. It had been fleeting, but undeniably real. Yet, he had no words for it.

For now, he did what he always did—observed, listened, and learned.

He carried a bucket toward the well, intending to fill it before heading home. As he passed a small gathering of farmers, he caught part of their conversation.

“Did you hear? A merchant from the south passed through this morning,” one man muttered. “He claimed the stars have been strange these past few nights.”

Shen Mu didn’t stop, but his ears caught every word.

“The stars?” someone scoffed. “More likely, he drank too much wine.”

Shen Mu remained silent, but the words settled into his thoughts.

Had the sky truly changed? And if so, why did he feel as though he already knew?

That afternoon, Shen Mu walked toward the eastern fields, where the land stretched into rolling hills. The villagers often used this path to reach the crossroads, where merchants and travelers occasionally passed through.

Today, an unfamiliar sight greeted him.

A lone traveler stood near the crossroads. His robes were dusty from the road, his straw hat tilted slightly downward to shade his face. A wooden cart sat beside him, filled with cloth-wrapped goods—likely trinkets and supplies from distant places.

Shen Mu paused at the top of the hill, watching.

The village received visitors from time to time, but this man… felt different.

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It wasn’t anything obvious. He was dressed like a simple trader, his hands roughened by labor, his posture relaxed. Yet something about the way he stood so still, so quietly, made Shen Mu linger.

Then, the traveler turned.

Their eyes met.

For a brief moment, Shen Mu felt something shift—a sensation, light as a whisper, brushing against his senses.

Not fear. Not recognition. But curiosity.

The man studied him for a fraction too long before offering a polite nod. Then, he turned back to his cart, speaking to an elder who had approached.

Shen Mu’s fingers curled slightly. He did not move immediately.

The man had noticed him.

Not in a way others did—not with quiet gossip or vague unease.

It was different.

By the time Shen Mu returned to the village, the traveler had drawn attention.

A small crowd had gathered near his cart. Merchants and villagers asked about his wares, trading coins and idle conversation.

Li Mei, standing near a fabric stall, waved him over.

“Shen Mu,” she said in a low voice. “Did you see the traveler?”

“I did,” he replied.

Li Mei glanced toward the man. “He’s been asking odd questions. Something about… unusual happenings along his journey. He said people in the outer villages have been seeing strange things. Do you think he was talking about us?”

Shen Mu remained silent for a moment. The man had looked at him strangely. But was it because of the village? Or something else entirely?

“I doubt it,” he said finally.

Li Mei hummed, unconvinced. “Well, I still think it’s strange.”

She turned toward the road again. The traveler was speaking to the village head, exchanging pleasantries.

Shen Mu followed her gaze.

What was the man looking for?

And why did it feel like, for just a moment, he had been looking for him?

As evening fell, Shen Mu found himself walking toward the orchard again.

The experience he had the previous day had left an imprint on him. He still did not understand what had happened, but his mind kept pulling him back to the moment he had placed his hand on the tree’s bark and felt the world shift.

Was it simply his imagination? Or was something waiting for him to notice it again?

The orchard was quiet now, the last light of day fading into deep golds and purples. The wind was soft, carrying the scent of ripe fruit.

He moved deeper into the grove, his steps light. His gaze swept across the trees, tracing the patterns in their branches, the way the shadows stretched as the sun dipped lower.

Then, it happened.

The stillness returned.

Not just silence. Something deeper.

The wind stopped. The rustling leaves froze. The faint hum he had heard the day before returned, so distant it was almost indistinguishable from thought itself.

Shen Mu did not move.

The world was waiting.

Then, something shifted.

His vision blurred, and for the briefest instant, he saw something else.

A glimpse of a place that did not belong here. A ripple in reality. A pattern, half-formed and incomplete, unraveling before him like a thread pulled from existence itself.

Then—

A sudden snap.

The wind rushed back. The leaves trembled. The world resumed.

Shen Mu exhaled slowly.

He had not imagined it.

Something was happening.

Something was watching.