Star Eyes Beyond the Shores of Time - Chapter 2

Morning and dusk. Seasons in endless rotation.
The island, day after day, remained as vast and magnificent as ever—
except for the cliffside, now weathered pale by the tides, its surface cloaked in lush green, with birds trilling through the salt air.

In the blink of an eye, ten years had passed.

An old man, shriveled like driftwood, gazed toward the horizon, lost in memory.
“My good boy,” he murmured, his voice trembling with sentiment. “Your father once saved my life. I swore to devote the rest of my days to you—to your child. Now she’s eighteen. The duty you left me is done. It’s time she left this place…”

A decade ago, the old hermit—once a man of quiet detachment—had taken from his benefactor’s son a little girl of eight. Her face was streaked with bl00d from burns and smoke; her dress charred into tatters; her breath faint and shallow, like a broken doll’s.

He had received her as one would take the sacred flame—solemnly, reverently.
He had never been a saint, but in that moment, he was not a wicked man either.

“Who could be so cruel,” the old man had asked, “as to harm even a child?”

“What use is asking?” his benefactor’s son had replied coldly. “The arsonist is a devil in human skin. Her mother and younger brother—no word of them. This vengeance must be hers to claim when the time comes.”

“How long until she wakes? Won’t she cry for her home, her mother, her toys? I’m too old for this…”

“When her missing souls return, she’ll wake. Seven souls, six spirits—she’s lost two to fright. In these ten years, you’ll raise her, and I’ll study one of her souls.”

The old man had frowned. “You won’t turn her into a fool, will you?”

“Not as bad as you think. She’s my first star. That makes her special.”

Now, years later, he finally understood that the promise to serve “unto death” had been no blessing—it was a curse.

His face was lined and resolute beneath sparse white hair. Dressed in a black Daoist robe, he stood on the rocky shore, wind tugging at his sleeves, waves lashing endlessly below—a lone remnant from another age.

After some time, he felt a presence behind him.
Without turning, his voice cracked through the wind:
“Tong Youxun! Get out of here!”

A soft, plaintive voice answered, “No. I’m staying. I’ll take care of you… till the end.”

The old man’s brow darkened. “End? Hah! I’m not dead yet, girl. But if you don’t leave soon, you’ll be the death of me!”

“I can’t just abandon you on this lonely island. What if something happens to you?” she pleaded, stepping forward. But her foot caught on wet sand, and she stumbled. Her long black hair, like a wave itself, whipped across the old man’s face—eyes, nose, and mouth.

“What in the heavens—!” he spluttered, his roar filled with exasperation.

Indeed, one should never tempt fate. The road one chooses—no matter how crooked—must be walked to its end.

“I-I’m sorry!” she stammered. “I’ve never had good luck. Nothing I say ever comes true. So if I say I’ll care for you till you die, that must mean you’ll live forever!”

The girl’s eyes lowered, shadowed by uncertainty.
Where would she even go, if she left? What place would take her in?

Reading her thoughts, the old man’s voice softened, though firm: “Go. When I die, he will return.”

“He? Who’s he?” She blinked, tears pooling. “You’re all I have, Grandma Xing… you’re like my mother’s mother. I can’t just leave before I’ve repaid you.”

The old man’s heart, hardened through centuries, trembled at her words.
Though his face was a map of age, his mind remained sharp. “I’ve lived more than long enough. You and I share no bl00d. My life or death is none of your concern.”

“But when I was fifteen, I tried to sneak out—and you nearly died because of it…” she whispered, tears falling like pearls.

The old man froze. He remembered the curse her benefactor had placed upon him—a witch’s hex from the southern tribes.
If ever he grew cold to the girl, neglected her, or wished her gone, he himself would wither on the brink of death.
But if he cared for her, protected her, he would survive.

Clever, deceitful boy—he had calculated everything, even the girl’s fate.

Ten years had dragged by. The girl had been nothing but trouble.
And yet… wasn’t there a flicker, faint and fleeting, of something like affection?

He sighed. A hundred and fifty years old—an age long past reason. He had lived beyond nature’s limit, kept alive only by the life-saving elixirs his benefactor had sent. A relic of another time, hidden away from the world.

Now the vastness of existence—day and night, spring to winter, moon to sun—no longer stirred him. His heart had gone still.

Then came the scent of grilled fish, faintly sweet, faintly burnt, curling into his nostrils.
Age had bent him further since yesterday. Gravity itself seemed to drag at his bones.

He was weary of it all—aging, dying. The body’s hunger remained the one worldly desire he could not transcend.

The lively girl clapped her hands proudly. “See, Grandma! I gutted the fish like you showed me. The bitter gall’s gone—I did it perfectly! And I caught oysters, clams, shrimp! We’re having a feast tonight!”

Before he could reply, she bent to stoke the fire.
“Tong Youxun,” he said dryly, “tie your hair.”

But before the words finished, a spark leapt from the fire, catching her unbound hair. Without hesitation, she drew a knife and sliced half of it away. The strands fell into the flames, crackling to ash.

“Sorry, Grandma! I meant to cut it ages ago. I’m too clumsy to braid it right anyway. Even a ponytail ends up a mess. Oh—and flip the fish for me, will you?” she called, dashing toward the shore.

He sighed. Kindness wasn’t always a shield—sometimes it was a burden.

He flipped the fish absently, mind drifting through memories like sand through fingers. The older he got, the more he lingered in the past.
Each afternoon could vanish into reverie.
And though she had been nothing but trouble, her presence made life less lonely.

When she came running back, cheeks flushed, she pointed proudly at her reflection.
“Look! I cut my hair short—nice, right?”

The old man smiled, deep wrinkles creasing like old parchment. “Like Liu Hulan—upright and brave. Not bad at all.”

A rare compliment. The girl beamed.

“Thank you! You should compliment me more often—I never get tired of hearing it!” she laughed, squatting beside him. “Try the fish, Grandma. It’s tender and smells amazing.”

He squinted at the fish and snorted. “That’s turbot, not perch. Perch live in freshwater rivers, not the sea.”

The girl straightened and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your wise correction, Grandma Xing! I’ll remember it always!”

Her respectful tone amused him. He took a bite—soft, fragrant, and rich—and almost smiled.
He handed it toward her, then drew it back. “Bah, you’ll just say it’s old-man food. What’s your secret to the flavor?”

She hesitated. Should she tell him?

Few ships ever came near Hidden Shadow Island.
Whenever one did, the old man would summon a dolphin named Bu Bu to guide it safely away.
The creature, saved by his benefactor long ago, was said to understand human speech.

Sometimes, packages—spices, condiments—would appear on the island’s edge, left by unseen hands. Tong Youxun treated them like treasure, using them to make her meals irresistible, hoping the old man would stop trying to send her away.

She was simple, foolish even, but her heart was warm.

“Of course I don’t mind your cooking,” she said, stuffing her mouth with fish. “You raised me, remember? Now tell me a story about when I was little!”

He saw through her deflection at once.
“Fine. I’ll tell you once more how you came to this island—and this time, you’ll listen. When I’m done, you’ll know how to leave.”

Startled, she dropped to her knees, the sound sharp against the rock. “I’m sorry. I know I must go. Please… speak, Grandma Xing. I’ll listen.”

She placed her delicate hand over his, but he jerked away, his voice thunderous despite his frail body.

“I hate—hate—being called Grandma Xing! I’m a man!”

Her eyes widened. “What?!”

“I was born in 1874, in the late Qing Dynasty,” he rasped. “After the Opium War. My family starved to death, and to survive, I became… a eunuch in the royal palace.”

He drew a shaky breath. “You calling me ‘Grandma’—it’s a knife twisting in an old wound. I’ve borne it ten years, out of duty to your father’s son. Were it not for that, girl, I’d never have kept you alive.”

The confession struck her like lightning.
All these years—he was a man. A man who had never once overstepped, never bathed near her, never shared a room, never even touched her without restraint.

And yet she had been calling him Grandma.

“Don’t—don’t reopen old wounds,” she wept. “If my cursed life brought you suffering, then I’ll go now. You’ve endured enough because of me.”

She turned to leave, wiping her tears.

But his voice stopped her. “Before you go—take this.”

He handed her a small glass vial of liquid blue as the deepest sea.
“It may help you remember what you’ve forgotten. You lost your past to trauma before you came here. Drink if you wish—but know, not all memories are kind.”

She held the vial up to the light. It shimmered like a piece of the sky, beautiful yet terrifying.

As she turned to go, his voice wavered behind her—
“Actually…” He paused, then sighed. “Forget it. Go.”

What he could not bring himself to say was this—

Ten years have passed like morning mist, scattered and gone. And though I am no longer quite human, I, too, once had a heart.