As they entered the village, the road became a narrow street lined with modest homes and few stalls, their door closed for the night. A few villagers lingered outside, their faces lit by the flickering lanterns. An old woman sweeping her doorstep, a pair of men sharing a pipe, their conversation pausing as they glanced at newcomers. The scholar's pristine white hanfu and serene demeanor drew curious looks, while the girl's carefree stride and dusty sandals seemed to blend into the villager's rhythm.
They stopped at a small, open – fronted tavern, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, painted with the faded characters that read "moonlit rest." Inside, a handful of patrons sat at low tables, sipping tea or rice wine, their voices a soft hum. The scent of steamed buns and ginger broth wafted out, making the girl's stomach rumble audibly. She shot the scholar a sheepish look, but he only gestured for her to enter.
The tavern keeper, a stout woman with a flour – dusted apron and sharp eyes, looked them over as they approached. "Travelers, eh?" she said, wiping her hands on a rag. "You look like you've come a long way. What's a fancy scholar and a scrappy kid doing out here at this hour?"
The girl opened her mouth, but the scholar spoke first, his voice smooth and unhurried "passing through, seeking a meal and perhaps a story or two. What do you offer?"
The woman an eyebrow, clearly sizing him up. "Got pork buns, noodle soup, and some rice wine that's not half bad. Stories though – those depends on who's telling. You got coins?"
The scholar reached into his hanfu, took a single silver coin from a hidden fold – not the pouch he gave to the ragged man, but another, smaller one.
He placed the coin on the counter with a soft clink. "Enough for a meal for two, I trust."
The tavern keeper's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded pocketing the coin with practice ease. "More than enough. Sit. I'll bring you some hot."
As they settled at a corner table, the girl leaned forward, her voice low. "You didn't tell her about the guy with the knife. Why not? What if he comes back?"
The scholar's blue eyes flickered to her, calm as ever. "What good would it do? The man's burden is his own now. Speaking of it here would only stir fear, not clarity."
She frowned, picking at a splinter on the table. "You're too calm about it. He could've hurt you. or me."
"Could have," he agreed, folding his hands in laps. "But he didn't. and you're still here, asking questions. That's worth more than fear."
Before she could argue, the tavern keeper returned with a tray, two steaming bowls of noodle soup, a plate of pork buns, and a small jug of rice wine. The girl dove into the food with relish, slurping noodle with unselfconscious gesture. The scholar ate more slowly, his movements precise, almost ritualistic, as if savoring the act itself.
As they ate, the tavern grew quieter, the other patrons drifting out into the night. The tavern keeper, now wiping down tables, glanced at them occasionally, her curiosity evident. Finally, she approached, leaning against post near their table.
"you're not just passing through," she said, her tone more statement than question. "Folk like you don't wander these roads without purpose. What's your story, scholar?"
The paused mid-bite, her eyes flicking to the scholar, eager for his response. He set down his chopsticks, his expression serene but thoughtful. "My story is no different from yours," he said. "A path, a search for truth, and the dust that waits for us all."
The tavern keeper snorted, crossing her arms. "Pretty words, but they don't tell me much. Last scholar who came through here was running from something – debt, a bad marriage, or worse. You running too?"
The girl's eyes widened, and she leaned forward, clearly intrigued. The scholar's gaze drifted through the lantern above, its light casting soft shadow across his face. "Not running," he said quietly. "Seeking. There is a difference."
"Seeking what?" the tavern keeper pressed her sharp her eyes narrowing =.
He met her gaze, his voice steady. "A question worth answering."
The tavern keeper laughed, a short, barking sound. "You're a strange one, alright. Well keep your secrets. Just don't bring trouble to my door." She turned away, but not before muttering, "plenty of that around already."
The girl swallowed a mouthful of noodles, her curiosity now burning spark. "What are you seeking, scholar? You keep talking about truth and clarity, but you never say what you're actually after."
He looked at her, his blue eyes catching the lantern's glow like twin stars. "I seek the question that ends all questions," he said softly. "The one that makes the world clear, not just for me, but anyone who asks it."
She blinked, her chopsticks hovering. "That's… big. Is there even such a thing?"
"Perhaps," he said, his faint smile returning. "Or perhaps the seeking is the point."
Before she could press further, a shadow fell across the table. A young man stood in the doorway, his clothes travel – worn but well – made, his face taut with urgency. He scanned the room, his eyes locking onto the scholar. "You," he said, his voice low but firm. "You're the one they call the 'starlit sage' aren't you?"
The scholar's expression didn't change, but something in his posture sifted, a subtle alertness. The girl tensed, sensing the air grow heavy again. The tavern keeper paused her cleaning once again. Watching from the corner of her eyes.
"I've been called many things," the scholar said evenly. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The young man stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a sheathed sword. "I need your help," he said. "there's a darkness coming to this valley. And you're the only one who might know how to stop it."