Dawn broke gently over the vilge of Lihua, painting the thatched roofs with golden light. Six-year-old Mei Lin sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor of her family's modest home, carefully grinding ink on a stone tablet as her father had taught her. The scent of fresh ink mingled with the morning smells of rice porridge bubbling in the cooking pot and spring blossoms drifting through the open window.

  "Mei Lin, have you finished your characters yet?" her mother called from the kitchen area. Bao-Zhai was a tall woman with kind eyes and calloused hands, her long hair neatly pinned with a wooden hairpiece carved by her husband.

  "Almost, Mother," Mei Lin replied, her small tongue poking out in concentration as she dipped her brush into the freshly ground ink. On the rice paper before her, she carefully traced the character for "honor"—her third attempt this morning.

  The vilge of Lihua sat nestled in a valley along the northwestern border of the Great Xia Dynasty. Too small to appear on imperial maps, it was known throughout the region for its cherry orchards that exploded with pink blossoms every spring. For generations, Mei Lin's family had tended to the same plot of nd, harvesting cherries and rice according to the rhythm of seasons that had remained unchanged for hundreds of years.

  Her father, Wei, stepped into the room, his weathered face breaking into a proud smile as he observed her calligraphy. "Your hand grows steadier each day, little blossom." He knelt beside her, gently adjusting her grip on the brush. "Remember what I told you—hold it like you would hold a butterfly. Firm enough that it doesn't escape, gentle enough that you don't crush its wings."

  Mei Lin nodded solemnly, her dark eyes wide with concentration. More than anything, she wanted to make her father proud. Unlike many men in their vilge, Wei could read and write. He had once served as a minor clerk in the household of a district magistrate before returning to his ancestral vilge to marry and raise a family. He insisted his daughter would learn these skills too, even though most vilgers saw little use for a farmer's daughter to know characters.

  "Come eat before the porridge grows cold," Bao-Zhai called, setting wooden bowls on their low table.

  Outside, the vilge was coming to life. Through the open door, Mei Lin could see Grandmother Liu hobbling to feed her chickens, and the bcksmith's sons racing each other to the well. It was market day, which meant vilgers from neighboring hamlets would arrive with goods to trade. Market days were Mei Lin's favorite—there would be storytellers, maybe even a puppet show if they were lucky.

  "Can I go watch the puppet show with Ling today?" Mei Lin asked, quickly slurping her porridge.

  "Only after you've helped me in the orchard," her mother answered. "The early cherries need sorting, and those small fingers of yours are perfect for the task."

  Mei Lin nodded happily. She loved the cherry orchard, especially now when the trees were heavy with fruit, their branches creating secret tunnels and hiding pces between rows. Sometimes she imagined she was an imperial princess walking through enchanted gardens rather than a farmer's daughter collecting fruit in a worn basket.

  After breakfast, the family walked together to the orchard that y just beyond the vilge perimeter. The morning mist was lifting, revealing vibrant green rice paddies that stretched toward the distant mountains. Mei Lin skipped ahead, her small cloth shoes leaving prints in the damp earth path. She carried her special cherry-picking basket—a miniature version of her mother's that her father had woven for her st birthday.

  "Remember to check each cherry before you pick it," Bao-Zhai instructed as they reached the first row of trees. "Only the firm, dark ones are ready."

  "I know, Mother," Mei Lin replied, already reaching for a low-hanging branch.

  The morning passed peacefully as the family worked their way through the orchard. Mei Lin sang little songs she had made up about cherry spirits and cloud dragons while her parents exchanged occasional words about the harvest prospects and vilge gossip. By midday, their baskets were full, and Mei Lin's fingers were stained a deep purple-red.

  "That's enough for now," Wei announced, lifting his heavy basket. "We should bring these back before heading to the market."

  As they emerged from the cherry trees, Mei Lin was the first to notice something strange. A thin column of dark smoke rose from the direction of the vilge.

  "Father, look!" she pointed. "Is someone burning trash?"

  Wei squinted toward the vilge, his expression suddenly changing. "That's not trash fire smoke. It's too dark, too much." His voice dropped to a whisper as he exchanged a worried gnce with his wife. "Bao-Zhai, take Mei Lin back into the orchard. Now."

  "What's happening?" Mei Lin asked, suddenly frightened by her father's tone.

  More smoke columns were rising now, and distant sounds carried on the wind—sounds Mei Lin had never heard before. Shouting, crashing, and something else... screaming?

  "Bandits? Or worse—" Bao-Zhai clutched her husband's arm.

  Wei shook his head grimly. "The border disputes... the magistrate warned us the northern tribes were restless, but I never thought they'd come this far south."

  He quickly knelt before Mei Lin, gripping her shoulders. "Listen carefully, little blossom. You must go with your mother and hide in the old hollow cherry tree where we found the bird's nest st season. Remember it?" When Mei Lin nodded, he continued, "Stay there, no matter what you hear, until one of us comes for you. Do you understand?"

  "But Father—"

  "No arguments," Wei said firmly, though his voice trembled slightly. He pressed his forehead against hers for a moment, then stood. "Go now. I must warn the others who are in the fields."

  "Wei—" Bao-Zhai began, tears already forming in her eyes.

  "Go!" he commanded, already turning toward the vilge.

  Mei Lin felt her mother's hand grab hers, pulling her back into the orchard. They ran, ducking under branches, Mei Lin struggling to keep up with her mother's desperate pace. The sounds from the vilge grew louder—cshing metal, fierce yells in a nguage Mei Lin didn't understand, and the terrifying roar of fire consuming thatch and wood.

  The hollow cherry tree stood at the far end of the orchard, ancient and gnarled, its massive trunk split to create a hidden cavity rge enough for a woman and child to squeeze into. Bao-Zhai pushed Mei Lin in first, then followed, pulling a curtain of hanging branches to conceal the opening.

  "Mother, I'm scared," Mei Lin whispered, her heart pounding in her small chest.

  "Hush, little one," Bao-Zhai soothed, though her own voice quavered. She held Mei Lin close, stroking her hair. "We must be silent as shadows now."

  From their hiding pce, they could see glimpses of the vilge through the trees. Fmes now engulfed several houses, including the one next to their own. Dark figures on horseback rode between buildings, carrying torches and weapons that fshed in the midday sun.

  Mei Lin buried her face in her mother's chest, trying to block out the sounds, but suddenly Bao-Zhai stiffened. "Your father," she whispered.

  Against her mother's previous instructions, Mei Lin peeked out. In the distance, she could see her father running toward the vilge, shouting warnings to farmers in the nearby fields. Then, to her horror, she saw three mounted warriors spot him and turn their horses in his direction.

  "No," Bao-Zhai breathed, her grip on Mei Lin tightening painfully.

  What happened next would burn itself into Mei Lin's memory forever. Her father, seeing the riders approaching, stopped and faced them. He carried no weapon—only a farmer's hoe that he raised defiantly. The riders circled him once, twice, saying something in their harsh nguage. Wei stood his ground, shouting back in their dialect—words Mei Lin didn't know her father possessed.

  Whatever he said angered them. One rider drove his spear forward. Wei dodged, swinging his hoe, but another rider was already behind him. The fsh of a curved bde, a spray of red, and her father crumpled to the ground.

  Bao-Zhai's hand cmped over Mei Lin's mouth, stifling her scream before it could escape. Hot tears streamed down both their faces as they watched Wei's body lie motionless on the path.

  "Don't look," Bao-Zhai whispered, turning Mei Lin's face away. "Remember him as he was this morning. Remember him teaching you to write."

  They huddled in silence as the attack continued. The raiders—warriors from the northern Khitan tribes, Mei Lin would ter learn—methodically destroyed Lihua vilge. Houses burned, livestock was sughtered or stolen, and any vilgers who hadn't fled were dealt with mercilessly. From their hiding pce, they could feel the heat of the fires even at this distance.

  As afternoon turned to evening, Bao-Zhai made a decision. "We must try to reach the provincial capital," she whispered. "It's three days' journey, but there will be imperial soldiers there who can help us."

  "What about Father?" Mei Lin asked, her voice raw from silent crying.

  Pain fshed across Bao-Zhai's face. "Your father would want us to survive, little one. We must honor him by living."

  They waited until full darkness before cautiously emerging from their hiding pce. The raiders seemed to have moved on, leaving destruction in their wake. The vilge still burned, orange fmes casting ghostly shadows across the familiar ndscape that had become alien and terrifying.

  Hand in hand, they crept toward the edge of the orchard. They would need to circle wide around the vilge to avoid any remaining raiders, then make for the southern road. Bao-Zhai had pulled together a small bundle—a water skin and some dried cherries from her pocket, nothing more.

  They had almost reached the edge of the orchard when they heard it—the soft thud of hooves on earth, approaching from behind. Bao-Zhai whirled around, pushing Mei Lin behind her.

  Three riders emerged from the shadows, their faces painted with war markings visible even in the dim moonlight. They had been scouting the perimeter, perhaps looking for escapees.

  "Run," Bao-Zhai hissed, pushing Mei Lin hard. "Run and don't look back!"

  Mei Lin stumbled forward, but couldn't make her legs move further. She turned just in time to see her mother lunge at the nearest rider, a sharp cherry-picking knife in her hand—the small bde pathetically inadequate against their weapons.

  "Mother!" Mei Lin screamed as one rider casually swung his bde. Bao-Zhai fell, her body illuminated by the distant fires of the burning vilge.

  The riders advanced toward Mei Lin, but suddenly stopped, their attention drawn by shouts from the vilge. More raiders were calling to them in their guttural nguage. After a brief pause, the three turned their horses and galloped back toward the vilge, leaving the small child alone with her mother's body.

  Mei Lin fell to her knees beside Bao-Zhai, her small hands frantically trying to wake her mother, to stop the bleeding, to undo what could not be undone. "Mother, please," she sobbed. "Please wake up."

  But there was no response. Only the crackling of distant fmes and the occasional crash as another structure colpsed in the vilge.

  Mei Lin didn't know how long she knelt there, her world shattered into unrecognizable pieces. Eventually, survival instinct took over. Her father's st command and her mother's final word echoed in her mind: hide, run.

  Standing on shaky legs, she looked back at what remained of Lihua vilge—her home for all six years of her life, now transformed into a hell of smoke and fme. The cherry orchard where she had pyed that very morning now stood as silent witness to unimaginable horror.

  With nothing but the clothes on her back and her parents' voices in her memory, Mei Lin turned and ran into the darkness. Behind her, the Vilge of Cherry Blossoms continued to burn, marking the end of one life and the beginning of something unknown and terrifying.

  She didn't look back again.