Three years have passed since I left Ziran Village.
Three years without seeing my simple home.Three years without hearing my father's voice—Li Haoming.
I still remember that night.Under the dim moonlight hanging above the rice fields, I asked him:
"Father, may I go out? I want to explore the world."
He was silent for a moment.He looked at the sky, then at me.His face was calm,but his eyes… held many things he could not say.
"You're still young," he said."But you have eyes that want to see more.I cannot stop you forever.But before you go—allow me to teach you… even if only the basics."
The days that followed were spent in quiet training.
Simple movements.Breathing—not to strengthen muscles,but to calm the heart.Steps—not for attacking,but to understand direction.And my eyes were opened—not to the outside world…but to myself.
Now, three years have passed.
And I'm beginning to understandwhy Father taught me so slowly.
He wasn't shaping a fighter—He was shaping an explorer of understanding.He didn't force me to become strong—He made me… sensitive.
Purpose.
That word has been echoing within me lately.
When I see the faces of my friends.When I train my steps.When I close my eyes and listento the earth, the water, the wind.
What is the purpose of all this?
I used to believe my purpose was to become strong.To fight.To protect.
But now… I see it differently.
It's not strength I seek,but clarity.Not victory,but understanding.
And the more I walk,the more the line of purpose begins to blur.
Yet in that blurriness…I find direction.
Like mist covering a mountain path—not to mislead,but to ask me to walk more carefully.
If Father sees me now…Would he know I remember everything he taught?
If I return to the village,would he still be waiting under that old tree—the one where he used to sit in the afternoons?
Purpose is not the finish line.Purpose is the way of walking.
And I am still walking.Slowly.But steadily.