Dusk crept downward.The sky turned purple.The wind closed the day gently.
Inside a modest house, an oil lamp glowed dimly.Its light cast dancing shadows of two figures: a father and a son.
Li Yuan washed his hands in a small clay basin in the kitchen corner.The cold water touched his skin, bringing a sense of reality—more real than the long meditations in his inner world.
Li Haoming smiled from the wooden table.
"Yuan'er... let's eat."
Li Yuan turned."Yes, Father."
They sat together.A simple meal: warm rice, boiled vegetables, and a small fish caught earlier that evening.
"Father…""I'm home."
Li Haoming didn't answer right away.He simply looked at his son's face for a long time.
"You've grown into a real man, Yuan'er.""But to me, you're still the little boy who loved staring at the night sky from the rooftop."
Li Yuan gave a faint smile.
"What will you do now?" Li Haoming asked in the middle of the meal.
Li Yuan lowered his gaze for a moment, as if searching for the right words.
"I don't know, Father...""I want to walk... to understand... to explore places I've never been."
The sound of crickets outside deepened the silence.Li Haoming chewed slowly.Then he said:
"Will you leave again?"
Li Yuan looked at the oil lamp.
"Not now.""I've just returned, and the world hasn't called me again."
Li Haoming nodded. Then he smiled.
"How about starting with this village?""Many children here can't read. I'm old now, and I can't teach like I used to.""Why don't you teach them?"
Li Yuan looked at his father.Then bowed his head. Then smiled.
"Alright, Father.""It's a small, quiet step... but maybe it means something."
The oil lamp flickered.The night embraced the house in silence.And the world... quietly recorded a small decision that might change many things.
Morning spread slowly.The sun wasn't high yet, but its golden light had already touched the rooftops of Ziran Village.A thin mist still hung over the fields, and dew clung to the leaves, not yet dried.
Li Yuan walked slowly.His steps made almost no sound, yet the earth seemed to know he was passing.The birds sang—not to greet the day, but as if to greet him.
"This village has more than a hundred souls... And among them, eight children still open to learning... Learning to read the world."
Li Yuan counted in his heart.He didn't memorize their names. He remembered their faces.The look in their eyes.The way they ran and smiled, even without knowing the meaning of letters.
"How should I begin?"
He stopped near the old tree in the center of the village.Once the playground of his childhood. Still standing—silent, a witness to time.
"I won't ask for payment.""Knowledge isn't something to be bought, but understanding that must be planted."
The morning breeze drifted lightly.Small footsteps approached from a distance.Village children carrying buckets, ropes, or just toys made of twigs and stones.Their world was simple.
Li Yuan smiled gently.
He called out to one of them.The child turned—curious, but not afraid.
"What's your name?"
"Xiao Hu..."
"Do you like stories?"
The child nodded quickly.
"How about a tale of a dragon that could read the stars?""But... to understand that story, you have to know the letters."
Xiao Hu's eyes grew wide.
"I want to... I want to learn the letters, Brother!"
Li Yuan chuckled softly."Wait for your friends. We'll begin together."
Before long, a few more children arrived.Somehow, on that quiet morning, a classroom was born—without boards, without benches, only earth, the shadow of a tree, and a voice flowing gently.
"This is the character 人—human.""Not because we're tall, but because we stand."
"This is 山—mountain.""A mountain doesn't speak, but it teaches silence."
The children wrote with twigs.They laughed when they got it wrong.They asked with innocent wonder.And Li Yuan answered—not like a teacher, but like a fellow traveler.
Amid the laughter and letters, he saw a small hope.Not about conquering the world.But about understanding... one word, one meaning, one life.
"Perhaps this is my path now—to teach words, while discovering a new understanding of the world and of myself."
The sun rose higher.But the shadow of the tree was still wide enough to hold one teacher, eight students, and thousands of unwritten words.