Chapter 3: Fire on the Wind
Tianhe was only five years old when everything changed.
It started like any other morning in the village. The sun had just risen over the green hills, casting a golden glow across the dewy grass. The river hummed its usual gentle tune, flowing past the bamboo groves like it always did. Birds chirped in the trees, and distant farmers were already calling out to their oxen as they plowed the soft earth.
Tianhe was running barefoot through the open field behind their house, giggling as he chased a bright yellow butterfly. His short legs carried him in wide circles through the wet rice paddies, his clothes damp and muddy but his smile bright. The morning air smelled like fresh water and steamed rice. The world felt big and safe.
Then… the shouting started.
At first, it was just one voice—sharp, urgent, coming from the main road.
Then came another. Then several more.
Hooves pounded the dirt path. Horses screamed. Someone yelled something about soldiers.
The air shifted.
Tianhe stopped running. The butterfly flew away, forgotten.
"Ma?" he called out, breathless as he looked back toward the house.
Nyi Raraswati was already standing at the edge of the garden, her hands still wet from washing herbs. She wasn't moving. Her eyes weren't on him.
They were fixed on the horizon.
Over the distant hills, dark smoke curled into the sky—thick, black, and rising fast.
"Ma?" Tianhe said again, running toward her now. He grabbed her hand tightly, his small fingers wrapping around her palm. "What's happening?"
But she didn't answer.
She didn't look at him.
She just stared at the smoke, her jaw tight, her shoulders stiff. Like she had seen this before. Like she knew exactly what that kind of smoke meant.
Tianhe looked up at her, confused and scared. "Is it a fire?"
Still no answer.
All around them, the village was changing. Doors slammed shut. Women pulled their children indoors. Men with old spears ran toward the commotion. A cart tipped over in the rush. Someone cried out. There was fear in the air—real fear. Not the kind Tianhe knew from bad dreams or loud storms.
This was different.
This was real.
Raraswati finally crouched down and gripped Tianhe's shoulders. Her eyes met his.
"We need to stay inside," she said, her voice calm but firm.
"Where's Papa?" he asked quickly. "Is he coming?"
There was a pause. Just a second. But Tianhe felt it.
That second told him everything.
"He's with the soldiers," she said. "He's helping."
Tianhe frowned. "But he promised he'd come home today."
"I know."
She stood up and pulled him close. "Come. Now."
They hurried into the house, locking the wooden door behind them. Tianhe peeked out the window, watching the smoke get thicker, darker. It didn't look like any fire he'd seen before. It was angry. Like it was trying to cover the whole sky.
He clutched his mother's sleeve. "Ma… I'm scared."
She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, "So am I."
But outside, the shouting only grew louder.
And deep down, even as a child, Tianhe felt something break.
Something was coming.
Something that would never let things go back to how they were.
---
Li Cheng, Tianhe's father, had always been a respected man. A mid-ranking general in the Yuan army, he spent most of the year away, guarding border towns and escorting supply lines.
But he never forgot his village. He always came home when he could. He brought food, stories, even medicines. People trusted him. They said he was one of the few good men left in the army.
Until the day he stood up to the tax collectors.
They came demanding grain during a poor harvest year. The villagers begged for mercy. There was barely enough to feed the children.
Li Cheng stood between the soldiers and the villagers.
"This is wrong," he said. "You'll take their food and leave them to starve?"
The commander of the tax unit didn't care.
"Orders are orders. Step aside, General."
Li Cheng didn't move.
So they reported him.
Within a week, the imperial court labeled him a traitor. They claimed he stole supplies, colluded with rebels, and insulted the Emperor.
There was no trial.
Only a public execution.
Tianhe didn't see it. Raraswati kept him hidden.
But he remembered the silence that fell over the house afterward. How she sat still for hours, holding a small scroll tied with his father's name on it.
"He died protecting the weak," she whispered one night. "That's who your father was."
Tianhe didn't really understand. He only knew his father was gone.
---
The night came early that day.
Clouds rolled in thick and low, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. The village was quiet now—not peaceful quiet, but the kind of silence that came after too much shouting, too many footsteps running in too many directions. The kind of silence that made even the dogs hide under tables.
Tianhe sat by the window, legs tucked under him, eyes fixed on the road. He had been waiting for hours.
"Maybe he's just late," he said aloud, mostly to himself. "Papa always comes home late when he helps people, right?"
Nyi Raraswati didn't answer. She was sitting near the fire, boiling water for tea that neither of them would drink. Her hands were steady, but her eyes were lost in thought—like they were searching for something far away.
Tianhe turned to her. "Ma… he promised."
"I know," she said softly, staring into the flames.
Then came the knock.
Not a gentle tap. Not a friendly hello.
It was the kind of knock that said bad news was waiting on the other side.
Raraswati stood slowly, smoothing her skirt. She walked to the door and opened it.
Two men stood there.
One was an old family friend—Uncle Bo, a former soldier with a scar across his neck and kind eyes. The other was a stranger, dressed in an official uniform. Neither of them smiled.
Tianhe's heart dropped. He didn't understand why. But he knew.
"Is it him?" Raraswati asked, her voice quiet.
Uncle Bo removed his hat. "He saved them, Rara. He held the line until everyone got out. The fire from the forest was meant to drive the villagers into a trap. Your husband… he broke the trap."
Tianhe's lips parted. "Where is he? Why didn't he come home?"
The official cleared his throat. "We regret to inform you that Captain Li Cheng fell in the line of duty."
Fell.
The word hit Tianhe like a stone.
"No," he whispered. "No. He said he'd come home. He said—he promised."
Raraswati didn't cry. She didn't scream. She simply nodded, as if a part of her had known all along. She thanked them, accepted the scroll they handed her—sealed with red wax and the emblem of the southern command—and closed the door.
Tianhe stood frozen.
"He's not… coming back?" he asked, his voice barely a breath.
Raraswati crouched beside him and pulled him into her arms.
"No," she said. "He's not."
The funeral was quiet.
No grand ceremony. No banners or guards. Just a few villagers, some incense, and a stone placed at the river's edge.
Tianhe didn't understand why his father wasn't given a soldier's farewell. He was a hero. That's what everyone said.
"He saved people," Tianhe said, his tiny fists clenched. "He should be remembered."
But Raraswati didn't answer.
Not until the next week, when a royal envoy arrived at the village.
Tianhe had never seen such fine clothes up close—silk robes, golden threads, a headpiece that sparkled like water under moonlight. The envoy stepped out of a lacquered carriage and handed Raraswati a sealed letter.
"You are to remain silent," the man said. "By order of the court."
"Silent?" she repeated, confused.
"Captain Li Cheng acted without authorization," the man continued. "The court cannot officially recognize his death as honorable. If you speak of it… you risk exile."
Tianhe blinked. "What are you saying?"
"He broke the chain of command," the envoy said flatly. "He disobeyed orders."
"He saved lives!" Tianhe shouted. "You should be thanking him!"
But the man didn't even look at him. "This is a matter for adults, boy."
Raraswati stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Tianhe's shoulder. "You've said what you came to say. Now go."
The envoy nodded once, turned, and left without another word.
That night, Tianhe lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
He couldn't stop thinking about it.
His father had died doing the right thing—protecting people, saving lives.
And yet… they erased him. Just like that.
No songs. No medals. Just silence.
And a threat.
"Why?" he whispered in the dark. "Why would they lie?"
He turned to his mother, who sat near the fire with the pendant in her hand.
"Was he really just a soldier?" he asked.
She looked at him for a long time. Then finally, she said, "No. He wasn't."
Tianhe sat up.
"What was he?"
Raraswati held the pendant tightly. "Your father was part of something older. Something deeper. A group that protected secrets most people aren't ready to face."
"Like what?"
"Like the Sky Oaths," she said. "Like the balance between power and truth."
Tianhe frowned. "That sounds like one of your stories."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Some stories… are warnings in disguise."
From that night forward, something inside Tianhe began to shift.
He stopped chasing butterflies.
He started listening harder—watching more carefully.
The world, he realized, was not as fair as he once believed.
And the court—so distant, so full of words like "honor" and "loyalty"—could be just as cruel as any bandit in the hills.
But he didn't cry anymore.
He simply stood at the river's edge, the pendant now hanging around his neck, and made a quiet promise.
"I'll find out the truth," he said. "About you. About the Sky Oaths. About everything."
The wind stirred the water, carrying his voice into the current.
And somewhere far off, something ancient listened.
---
Years passed, but the wound remained.
Tianhe would often sneak away to sit by the river, watching the water move.
"Why did they kill him?" he whispered one day.
"Because he broke the rules," an old man sitting nearby replied.
Tianhe hadn't noticed him. He was dressed in worn robes, with a long beard and tired eyes.
"Rules?"
"Not the kind written on paper," the man said. "The kind built into power. When someone strong defends someone weak, those in power get scared."
Tianhe stared. "Do you know who my father was?"
The man looked at him. "More than a soldier. Some say he was one of the last who held the Sky Oaths."
"Sky Oaths?"
The man smiled faintly. "Old vows from the early days of the empire. Vows sworn not to rulers, but to the heavens. Guardians of balance. Of justice. Most think they're just stories now."
Tianhe's heart beat faster. He wanted to ask more, but the man stood and walked away, leaving behind only the smell of dried herbs and something heavier—truth.
---
By the time Tianhe turned eleven, he started to see it for himself.
Corruption.
Noblemen who took more than they gave. Local lords who laughed at the law. Guards who protected merchants, not people.
He once saw a poor man beaten in the village square for refusing to pay an extra "silk fee"—something the local official had made up.
Tianhe tried to stop them.
"Leave him alone!"
A soldier shoved him to the ground. "Mind your place, boy."
Raraswati pulled him away before it got worse.
That night, she sat with him on the porch.
"You can't fight them yet," she said.
"But it's wrong!"
"Yes. But knowing what's wrong is the first step. One day, you'll have the strength to do something about it. Until then, you must learn. Watch. Grow."
He nodded slowly.
He didn't want revenge. He wanted change.
And in that moment, under a sky filled with stars and wind, the fire inside him grew.
A quiet fire.
But fire, nonetheless.