The Journey Begins
The black-bronze-covered carriage rolled steadily along the ancient stone-paved road at the heart of the capital city. Gentle sunlight bathed the curved rooftops in a golden glow. Colorful flags and silk streamers, fluttering from the eaves of teahouses and taverns, danced freely in the breeze.
These sights were all too familiar to Trần Sĩ, who had spent his entire youth within the confines of the family estate. And yet, for reasons he could not name, today everything felt vivid—alive in a way he hadn't felt in years.
It wasn't the crowd, nor the festive atmosphere filled with the music of street minstrels that stirred his soul.
No, it was something deep within—a flutter of emotion, unfamiliar yet electric. For today, he and Vân—his loyal handmaid and companion—were leaving home behind. They were bound for Dai Lien Grand Academy, the place that would become his second home for the next eight years. A haven of wisdom known across the empire as the Sea of Knowledge, where rivers of golden and silver learning flowed from every corner of the realm. There, one did not merely study sword and scroll—but also the art of leadership, and the burden of safeguarding a kingdom's fate.
As their carriage passed beneath the shadow of the city gate, Sĩ looked up at the towering watchtower—majestic and proud. On either side, deep moats shimmered with the reflection of the blue sky. A stone bridge arched like a dragon's back, worn smooth by countless generations of hooves and wheels.
The August breeze stirred, carrying with it the scent of ripening rice from distant fields. Vân's chestnut-brown hair danced gently in the wind. She raised a hand to keep it in place, then turned her head toward him. Her eyes, radiant with a quiet purity, held a light he knew by heart.
Their driver, Old Quy, had served the Trần estate for over thirty years. Though in his sixties, his back remained as straight as a bamboo stalk. Decades of chopping wood, drawing water, and mending stables had shaped arms gnarled like the roots of ancient trees. He rarely spoke, often smiling gently, but he loved the children of the house with a silent, enduring devotion. Sĩ respected him deeply—often slipping him sweet cakes or fine tea during the holidays.
The carriage rolled out of the capital and into the sprawling countryside. It was the end of the Summer Harvest. The rice fields on either side were turning gold, no longer green but woven with sunlight—like strands of yellow silk strewn across the earth. White egrets glided over the horizon, casting fleeting shadows over the golden sea below. The air was thick with the scent of new rice, tinged with something nostalgic, like sunshine steeped in memory.
A fragment of an old folk song floated into his mind, one they used to sing back in the village:
> "In the eighth month, the rice heads bloom,
Fields wide as the sky, fluttering with wind."
A sigh escaped his chest. He turned to find Vân had fallen asleep beside him. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, hair swaying with the carriage's rhythm. Her cheeks were tinged pink under the soft sunlight. Her pale-pink robe fluttered gently in the breeze—like a camellia petal in the twilight.
Sĩ smiled. His heart quieted. And slowly, he too drifted into sleep—rocked by the steady sway of wheels, the soft creak of wooden spokes, and the wind that brushed his face like a mother's hand.
---
By the time the sun slipped behind the western hills, the sky glowed with hues of honeyed amber. Suddenly, a loud neigh jolted Sĩ awake. He rubbed his eyes and peered out the window.
"Uncle Quy, is something wrong?"
The old man's voice called back—calm, but laced with uncertainty:
"Master Sĩ, the bridge ahead has collapsed. Villagers are repairing it. We won't be able to cross tonight."
Sĩ frowned. "Then what now?"
"There's a small village nearby. If the map is right, we can reach it before full dark."
"Then let's head there."
Vân had just woken as well, letting out a long yawn before blinking drowsily.
"What's going on… Master?"
"We'll be staying at a village tonight. No Redwind for us today."
"Hmm… that's fine. I'm starving anyway."
Sĩ chuckled softly.
---
By the time twilight surrendered to night, they arrived. The village was encircled by tall bamboo groves, thick and green, rising higher than a man's head. Two moss-covered stone pillars stood at the gate, where an old wooden plaque bore the name: Tụ Trúc Village, carved in ancient calligraphy.
Two sleepy guards stood at the entrance. One, a scruffy man in his forties, narrowed his eyes and barked:
"Carriage, state your name and purpose!"
Sĩ stepped down, composed, and drew a small silver token from his robe—engraved with the words Trần Clan, Shield of the Realm. The guards froze, then bowed deeply.
"Our apologies for the offense. Welcome, honored guests!"
They were promptly escorted to the village head's residence—a large wooden hall in the village center. Though simple, it bore a quiet dignity, with yin-yang tiled roofing, mossy stone steps, and a garden of purple bamboo and yellow chrysanthemums.
The headman, Hạ Cát, bore a long scar across his face. Though well past fifty, his posture was proud, his gaze solemn but not unfriendly.
"I am Hạ Cát, headman of this village. It is our honor to host you."
Sĩ returned the gesture with courtesy. "I am Trần Sĩ, eldest son of the Trần clan. This is Vân—my servant and companion."
"Tụ Trúc is honored by your presence," the old man replied with a faint smile. Then he called aloud: "Hạ Anh! Come greet our guests!"
A young girl, no older than ten, appeared at the door. Her jet-black hair was tied neatly, and her eyes sparkled with mischief and light.
"Yes, Father!"
"Take our guests to the west wing."
She led them down a wooden corridor that smelled faintly of incense. Their room was tidy and spacious, with clean wooden floors and two cotton mattresses folded neatly. Poems written in graceful script adorned the walls, light as mist at dawn.
"This is your room. If you're hungry, I can bring dinner."
Right then, Vân's stomach let out a long, loud growl that echoed across the room. Her face turned red as a ripe apple. Hạ Anh giggled behind her hand, and even Sĩ let out a laugh.
"I suppose that's a yes," Hạ Anh said with a grin and hurried away.
As she disappeared, Sĩ teased, "You should teach your stomach some manners."
Vân gave him a mock glare and muttered, "I'll try…"
Soon after, a knock came. Hạ Anh returned with two wooden trays.
"Steamed fish with soy, water spinach soup, and hot rice. Just humble village fare—I hope it pleases."
The aroma alone made Sĩ's stomach answer in kind. They both bowed in thanks. Hạ Anh excused herself.
They ate in silence. The food, though simple, carried with it the warmth of the village—filling not just their bellies, but their hearts. After the meal, Vân stretched, yawned softly, and laid down her mat.
"Sleep well, Master…"
Sĩ remained seated at the wooden desk. He unrolled a parchment map, eyes gazing southward into the unknown.
A long journey awaited them. Only three days till the academy—but each day brimmed with endless possibility.
He did not yet know what fate had in store. Only that it had begun.