I come from another world.

Hammerstone Town is an ordinary settlement situated in the heart of Valoran, lacking in renowned specialties and picturesque landscapes. Its sole distinction lies in the proximity to the Winterbloom Forest. This forest, located in the western part of the continent, is neither large nor small, but it stands as one of the three major gathering places for magical beasts on the continent.

Generally, the residents of Hammerstone Town, which lies close to the Winterbloom, should be able to derive necessary resources from the forest. However, in reality, the townsfolk find it quite challenging to benefit from it. The diverse array of beasts and ferocious magical creatures within the forest serves as a formidable barrier against human encroachment.

Such an unremarkable town naturally lacks many legendary tales; mediocrity is the town's defining theme. Yet, around March of this year, the diligent townspeople discovered the arrival of an unknown visitor.

He was a young man in his twenties, but his hair, a blend of white and gray, gave him a slightly aged appearance. His tattered clothing hinted at a once exquisite craftsmanship. The fabric was distinct from linen, resembling materials the townsfolk had only seen on Lady Freya, the town's mayor. Regrettably, what was once fine cloth now lay in tatters, combined with the hide of some unknown beast, forming an oddly styled outfit.

Always at the young man's side was an adorable little creature, a white fox that occasionally emitted curious sounds, seemingly intrigued by everything in town, its large, dark eyes watching the townsfolk with interest.

"He must be a young noble fleeing from afar," speculated the townsfolk. Yet, the young man remained taciturn, never uttering a word upon his arrival. He would silently sit nearby when the townsfolk gathered to chat, listening intently to their conversations, exuding an aura of silence and coldness. However, the experienced elders could discern a flicker of curiosity in the young man regarding all that transpired around him.

What could possibly pique the interest of this young noble from distant lands in an ordinary town?*

"It's obvious—he must come from another realm, perhaps one that is entirely different from our Debang. Curiosity is natural."

The young man never introduced himself, so the townsfolk embraced this assumption as truth. Time passed swiftly for the townsfolk, who lived without the pressures of urgency, and gradually, they adapted to the young man's presence, accepting the silent figure who stood by during their conversations and trades, until May.

As the weather began to warm, the young man initiated some communication with the townspeople, though initially, his speech was halting, akin to a child learning to speak. Over time, he became more proficient. This only deepened the townsfolk's understanding of him as a visitor from another land, though he brought no trouble; most had never ventured beyond the Southern Province, and in their minds, other countries felt incredibly distant.

*Such distances made language barriers entirely understandable. Since the young man began to converse with the townsfolk, they gained a bit more insight into him—he was a reticent man. When they spoke with him, they generally avoided his dark, sorrowful gaze, which seemed to harbor depths of sadness, like a pool of despair that stirred no ripples, profoundly affecting these simple farmers.

The young man appeared to possess a remarkable talent for music.

On a summer afternoon, young Johnson's son brought a guitar he had purchased in the big city, beginning his relentless cacophony that disturbed the townsfolk's peace. As the villagers prepared to flee, the young man seemed startled by the guitar's presence and politely asked to borrow it from young Johnson. For Johnson, who usually found his beloved music treated like a wild beast by the townsfolk, encountering someone who appreciated it was a delightful surprise. He readily agreed, handing over his cherished guitar to the young man.

What followed was an unforgettable scene for the townsfolk. Beneath the lush camphor trees, where sunlight trickled through the dense leaves, the somewhat weathered young man gently strummed the guitar's strings. Accompanied by the soft sway of his gray-white hair and a gentle, lilting voice, melodies unheard before danced through the ancient town, echoing like whispers between lovers.

Though they could not comprehend the young man's language, his soul-stirring lament was often enough to bridge the gap of communication, allowing the townsfolk to feel the deep sorrow embedded in his music.

What could he have experienced? Why were his melodies so melancholic? The townsfolk pondered, yet the young man offered them no opportunity for questions.

"Xiao Mu Yu, my name is Xiao Mu Yu!" he murmured, as if emphasizing something or recalling a memory. This marked the first time the townsfolk learned the name of this enigmatic stranger.*

*Then, like in the past months, he walked slowly toward the Winterbloom Forest as the sun set, leaving the town behind.

In the days that followed, the young man's visits grew increasingly infrequent, sometimes disappearing for five or six days at a time, returning only to procure essential supplies before vanishing once more. The townspeople were curious about his residence, but each time they inquired, he remained silent.

However, young Johnson was utterly enamored. Whenever the young man returned, he was always the first to approach him, eager to learn music from Xiao Mu Yu. Sometimes, when the young man was overwhelmed by Johnson's enthusiasm, he would share melodies completely different from the mainstream music of the continent. Though they seemed peculiar, they were undeniably beautiful. The local children, drawn by the commotion, would often gather around, humming along with innocent delight.

Thus, songs echoed through the cobbled streets of the town, carried by the voices of those naive children, the delightful notes soaring through the clouds above, weaving through the winding alleys between houses, and dancing amidst the golden waves of rice fields outside the town.

However, beginning in October, the young man's visits became increasingly rare; sometimes, he would appear only once every half month. The townsfolk, preoccupied with the upcoming harvest, had little time to dwell on him. Each household was swamped with work, and even young Johnson had to momentarily set aside his cherished music to focus on farm tasks.

Until one day, as the first snowflakes began to fall, someone spotted the young man, accompanied by his inseparable pet white fox, bravely trudging through the thick snowfall toward the provincial capital, Tianxin City. From that day forward, the townsfolk never laid eyes on him again.