FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

The grey light of dawn in Yúnzhī Cūn held a particular quality, thick with mist that muffled the world beyond the terrace and dampened the scent of pine into something earthy and close. Anze Li moved through the familiar rituals of Mòfáng before the others stirred, the scrape of the iron stove poker, the rhythmic crunch of coffee beans surrendering to the grinder, the soft hiss of water nearing boil – these were the anchors of his mornings.

Today, though, the air hummed with a different energy, a quiet anticipation that settled around the small figure seated at the low table near the window. Meiying, dressed in clean cotton trousers and a tunic Yan had helped select from Wei's sparse duffel, swung her legs, her small feet clad in the thick wool socks Trader Zhang had procured. She watched Anze with wide, dark eyes, clutching a half-eaten cloud cake shaped like a rabbit, a gift from Auntie Mei delivered with the dawn.

Teacher Lin arrived precisely as the first tendrils of steam curled from the teapot, her worn canvas bag slung over one shoulder, her calm presence a counterpoint to Yan's barely contained fizz of excitement beside her. "Ready for school, little cloud?" Teacher Lin asked, her voice warm as she crouched slightly. Meiying nodded, a crumb clinging to her chin, her gaze flicking from the teacher to Yan and then back to Anze, seeking silent confirmation. He gave a single, firm nod, the unspoken *'It's alright'* transmitted in the set of his shoulders. Yan practically vibrated, "C'mon Meiying, I'll show you the best spot, we can watch the mist lift over the gorge from the school window if we're quick!" She gently took Meiying's hand. Meiying slid off the chair, pausing only to look up at Anze, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He met her gaze, held it for a beat, a silent promise in his own. "Go learn," he said, his voice low but steady. "Yan will be right there." Reassured, Meiying let Yan lead her towards the door, her small hand disappearing into Yan's eager grip.

Anze watched them step into the swirling grey, Yan's voice already chattering brightly about inkstones and picture books, Teacher Lin a steady silhouette beside them until the mist swallowed them whole. The quiet that settled back into Mòfáng felt deeper, heavier, punctuated only by the drip of condensation from the eaves and the crackle of the fire. Granny Wen shuffled in moments later, guided more by instinct than sight, settling into her customary chair near the stove's warmth with a soft sigh.

Anze placed her cup of bitter, restorative tea before her without a word. She took a slow sip, her clouded eyes seeming to gaze right through the wall towards the small schoolhouse. "New roots need good soil, Ánzǐ," she murmured, the rasp like dry leaves. "Teacher Lin knows the way." He nodded, though she likely couldn't see it, the weight of Meiying's absence a tangible thing in the room. He busied himself with unnecessary tasks – wiping down the already gleaming counter, rearranging mugs, checking the safe behind the panel – anything to quiet the unfamiliar hum of worry. Da Chun appeared at the door, mud already spattering his boots, offering a silent nod before heading towards the terraces. Uncle Bo took up his post near the entrance, a fresh piece of pine already yielding shapes under his whittling knife. The morning crept by, measured in the slow arc of the unseen sun lightening the mist outside from charcoal to pearl grey.

Villagers drifted in for their morning tea, their greetings subdued, their glances lingering on the empty space where the child had sat. Auntie Mei arrived with a fresh basket of cloud cakes, her gaze sweeping the room. "She settled?" she asked Anze directly, her voice holding its usual melodic warmth but underscored with concern. "Teacher Lin has her," Anze replied, pouring her tea. Auntie Mei sighed, a soft sound. "Good. Little sapling in a new grove. Needs gentle tending." She placed a cloud cake shaped like a bird beside Anze's hand. "For later. For her." Trader Zhang hovered nervously near the counter, adjusting his fogged glasses. "Captain Li, the items… satisfactory? The soap gentle enough? The picture books?" "They were fine, Zhang," Anze said, his tone curt but not unkind. "She took one with her." Zhang beamed, relieved. "Excellent! Children need stories. Expand the mind! Like… like mist clearing from a valley!" He scuttled out, seemingly pleased with his own metaphor. The wait felt interminable. Anze found himself listening for sounds beyond the drip and the crackle and the low murmur of Granny Wen's breathing – for the distant chime of the school bell, for the bright cadence of Yan's voice heralding their return. He reviewed security protocols for the Soul's Path in his mind, mentally checked the state of the camouflage netting stored in the cellar, anything tactical to overlay the quiet, persistent pulse of *'Is she alright? Is she scared? Do they understand her?'*

When the door finally banged open, it was like sunshine bursting through clouds. Yan tumbled in first, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. "She was brilliant, Shīfu! Absolutely brilliant!" she announced to the room at large. Teacher Lin followed, a gentle smile on her face, her hand resting lightly on Meiying's shoulder. Meiying stood just inside the threshold, clutching a sheet of paper covered in bold, colourful strokes. She scanned the room quickly, her eyes finding Anze. A tentative smile touched her lips, then blossomed into full radiance as he stepped out from behind the counter. She didn't run this time, but walked straight to him, holding up her artwork. "Look Uncle Li! I drawed… drew the mountains! And Teacher Lin's bird book!" The picture was a joyful chaos of green scribbles, a brown triangle that might be Mòfáng, a yellow circle for the sun trying to pierce the grey sky, and several enthusiastic blobs of colour that were clearly meant to be birds. "It's… vibrant," Anze managed, the unfamiliar word feeling clumsy but right. He crouched to her level. "Tell me about it." And she did, words tumbling out in a rush, describing the blue bird Teacher Lin showed them, the scratchy sound of her crayon, how Yan helped her draw the big tree outside the school window.

The café filled with warmth as villagers gathered closer, drawn by the child's energy. Granny Wen reached out a gnarled hand, and Meiying, remembering her manners, carefully placed her drawing into it. Wen traced the lines with a trembling finger, a faint smile on her lips. "Strong lines," she rasped approvingly. "Like the mountain bones." Auntie Mei produced another cloud cake, this one shaped like a star. "For the artist," she declared. Da Chun, leaning against the doorframe, offered a rare, rumbling compliment, "Good trees." Even Uncle Bo paused his whittling to glance at the drawing, giving a single, almost imperceptible nod of approval. The afternoon unfolded in a gentle rhythm of shared presence. Meiying showed Yan her new picture book from Teacher Lin, the two girls huddled together on the floor near the stove. Anze served tea, his usual vigilance softened by the domestic scene.

Xu Linxue appeared quietly, her camera bag slung over her shoulder, returning from a morning spent capturing the mist-shrouded pines. She paused, her grey eyes taking in the scene – Meiying pointing at a picture, Yan explaining animatedly, Granny Wen seemingly dozing but a small smile on her face, Anze watching it all from behind the counter with an expression Xu had rarely seen: a deep, quiet contentment. She raised her camera almost instinctively, capturing the moment – the warmth against the cool grey light, the focus on the child, the protective circle of villagers.

Anze met her gaze as she lowered the camera, a silent understanding passing between them. *Sanctuary found,* her look seemed to say. He gave the barest nod. *For now.* As dusk began to stain the mist outside with lavender and deep blue, the villagers gradually dispersed, carrying the lingering warmth of the shared afternoon with them. Yan helped Meiying wash up after a simple meal of buckwheat noodles and steamed greens prepared by Xu. The little girl's energy, while dimmed, still held a spark of curiosity. She stood by the large window, peering into the gathering gloom. "Uncle Li?" she asked, her voice small in the quiet café. "Can we… can we go see? Before dark?" Anze knew what she meant.

The village, the mountains, the reality of this place that was now her temporary home. He looked at Xu, who gave a small, encouraging nod. "Alright," he said. "But your coat. And scarf." He helped bundle her into the warm layers Auntie Mei had ensured were in the duffel. Wrapped up, only her bright eyes visible above the woven scarf, she looked like a small, eager owl. They stepped out onto the terrace. The air was crisp, carrying the sharp scent of pine and damp earth. The mist had thinned to veils, clinging to the tops of the tallest trees and swirling in the depths of the gorge below. Lights from the few houses still awake glowed like soft amber jewels against the deepening blue. Meiying slipped her small hand into Anze's large, calloused one. He closed his fingers gently around hers. "Where first?" he asked. "Everywhere," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. They walked slowly, Anze shortening his stride to match hers. He pointed with his free hand, his voice a low rumble in the quiet evening. "That's the Ancestral Hall," he said, indicating the largest, most imposing building with its dark wood and faded carvings barely visible in the twilight. "Very old. Very important. Where people remember." "Remember what?" "Family. Long ago." "Oh." She digested this. "Like Baba remembers Mama?" Anze's step faltered almost imperceptibly. "Yes. Like that."

They passed the communal well, its stone lip worn smooth by generations of hands. "Water comes from deep, deep down," Anze explained as she peered into the dark opening. "Clean and cold." "Is there a monster?" she whispered, eyes wide. "No monster. Just good water." Relief washed over her small face. He led her towards the cliff edge, careful, stopping well back from the low stone barrier. Below, the gorge was a chasm of shadows, the river a distant, silvery murmur. "The river," he said. "Loud down there. Quiet up here." "Why is the bridge broken?" She pointed across the gorge to the crumbling stone arch, a skeletal silhouette against the twilight sky. Anze followed her gaze. "Long time ago," he said, choosing his words. "Before anyone here now. It went somewhere else. Then… it broke." "Did people fall?" "Maybe. Long time ago." He felt her small hand tighten in his. "Don't worry. Our path is strong. The *Soul's Path*."

He didn't elaborate further. She didn't ask. They walked past the Weaver's Shed, dark now, but the faint, lingering scent of lanolin and dye plants hung in the air. "Auntie Mei makes magic here," Anze said. "Cloth like clouds." "Like my scarf?" Meiying touched the woven fabric at her neck. "Just like." They paused near the terraced fields, shadowed steps carved into the mountainside. "Food grows here," Anze said. "Da Chun and others work hard. Cabbage. Radishes. Potatoes." "Do they grow cloud cakes?" Anze felt a corner of his mouth lift, the ghost of a smile. "No. Those are Auntie Mei's magic too." "Oh." She sounded slightly disappointed. He pointed upwards, where the last light caught the very tops of the tallest pines, turning them fiery gold against the darkening blue. "Trees touch the sky." "Are there birds?" "Many birds. Sleeping now." "Teacher Lin showed me a blue one. Very blue." "Maybe you'll see it. One day."

They walked on, past Granny Wen's small house, a light glowing softly in one window. "Granny Wen knows plants," Anze said. "Makes people feel better." "She touched my hair." "She liked it." They reached the small stone shrine tucked against the cliff face at the village edge. A simple offering of wild berries rested on the worn stone ledge. "For the Mountain Spirit," Anze murmured. "To say thank you. For keeping us safe." Meiying was silent for a moment, staring at the humble shrine. "Does the Spirit like berries?" "I think so." "Can I give it my cloud cake tomorrow?" The unexpected generosity, the instinct to connect, struck Anze deeply. "Yes," he said, his voice thick. "I think that would be good." The darkness was deepening, the stars beginning to prick through the veil of high mist.

They turned back towards the warm glow of Mòfáng. Meiying's questions came slower now, softened by tiredness but no less persistent. "Why is the mist always here?" "The mountain breathes," Anze answered, a phrase he'd heard Granny Wen use. "Why is the path so slippy?" "Water and stone. We fix it." "Does Yan really climb like a spider?" "Sometimes." "Will you teach me?" "When you're bigger." "When will Baba come back?" The question, inevitable, hung in the cool air. Anze stopped walking, turning to face her. He crouched down again, so their eyes were level in the dim light spilling from Mòfáng's windows. "He has important work, Meiying," he said, repeating the necessary truth, willing his voice to stay steady. "Like a long, hard walk. He'll come back when it's done." She searched his face, her own small face serious in the gloom. She didn't cry. She just looked at him, her dark eyes holding his. Then, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce, brief hug. When she pulled back, she simply nodded. "Okay." She stifled a yawn, leaning her head against his shoulder as he straightened up, carrying her the last few steps.

Inside Mòfáng, Xu was tidying the last cups. Yan was already half-asleep on a chair. The warmth enveloped them. Anze helped Meiying out of her coat and scarf. Her eyelids were drooping. He carried her upstairs to Yan's room, where Yan sleepily changed into her own nightclothes. Xu followed, helping Meiying into her pajamas. Anze tucked the thick wool blankets around her small form as she settled into the cot. "Uncle Li?" she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. "Yes, Meiying." "I like the mountain spirit." "Good." "And Granny Wen." "Good." "And Auntie Mei's cakes." "Good." "And…" Her eyes finally closed, her breathing deepening into the rhythm of sleep before she could finish. "And you, little sprout," Anze whispered, the words unheard but settling into the quiet room.

He adjusted the blanket one last time, his hand lingering for a second on her small shoulder. He looked at Yan, already asleep in her own bed. He looked at Xu, standing quietly in the doorway, her expression soft in the lamplight. He extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the faint starlight filtering through the small window. Downstairs, he banked the stove, the familiar motions grounding. The profound silence of the mountain night descended, deeper now, filled only with the distant sigh of wind in the pines and the soft, steady breathing of the child upstairs. He stood for a long time at the window, looking out at the village swallowed by mist and night, the weight of Wei's burden heavy on his shoulders, but counterbalanced now by a small, warm, sleeping weight in his heart. The roots were taking hold. And watching over them, through the long, quiet hours until dawn, the bridge stood guard.