The fourth day began in silence.The dew had not yet dried, and the sky still held the soft colors of morning.
Li Yuan was already sitting beneath the tree before the children arrived.He seemed like a part of the tree itself—silent, yet present.
When the children came, they found a character already drawn in the dirt.Its shape was long, curved, as if in motion.But it was different from yesterday's water.
"Today we learn the second character," Li Yuan said, without standing."Wind."
The children looked at one another.One of them, the smallest, said,"But you can't see the wind."
Li Yuan smiled.
"That's true.""But don't we always know when it arrives?""The wind moves the leaves,carries sound,cools the skin.""It is invisible,but it leaves a trace."
He pointed to a leaf drifting downsoundless, without a clear destination,yet with a grace that could not be taught.
"Wind is like thought.You can't touch it,but it can change your path."
"And this character... is the shape of something with no shape."
The children began copying the symbol into the earth.Some rushed, some moved carefully.
Li Yuan approached one child and gently adjusted their fingers.
"Writing a character isn't just about drawing a shape.You must feel it.Let your hand move like the wind itself—gentle, but with direction."
The morning breeze came again.It passed through straight, uncut black hair,and across small skin already warmed by the sun.
One child looked at their character and murmured,"The wind comes and goes, but it never stays."
Li Yuan was silent.Then nodded slowly.
"That is why understanding sometimes comes without us realizing,and leaves before we can hold it."
That day, there were no tests, no memorization.Just one character, and a whole day to understand it.
NOTE: IS LONG OR SHORT ACTUALLY BETTER?
The fifth day.
The sky looked clear,as if last night's rain had washed not only the earth,but also the time clinging to the air.
Beneath the great tree,the children were already seated in a circle before Li Yuan arrived.Their faces shone not because of sunlight,but because of something growing within them.
When Li Yuan arrived silently,one of the children spoke up at once.
"Teacher, there's a character we couldn't find in any book.""We looked for it, but it wasn't there."
Li Yuan looked at them.He paused, as if diving into the question,not to answer it,but to understand its meaning.
"Those three characters aren't in any book," he said."Because they've never been written before."
The children looked at one another.
"How can a character never be written?""Aren't all characters meant to be read?"
Li Yuan picked up a small twig.He drew in the soil.
The first line: not straight.The second: curved, but not perfect.The third: broken in the middle, like a breath left unfinished.
"These three characters come not from pen, nor from mouth.""The first is Silence.""The second is Longing.""The third is Understanding."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Silence cannot be written.It only appears when you're truly alone—and not afraid."
"Longing cannot be read.It's something you feel,when you miss somethingyou don't even fully understand."
"And Understanding...""...is not something given.It arrives,when your heart is quiet enough to hear the world speak."
The children fell silent.
One of them redrew the symbols Li Yuan had made.
"If we write them today,does that mean we are starting to understand?"
Li Yuan didn't answer.He simply smiled gently,and let the wind carry the answer.
That day, the three missing characterswere no longer missing —because for the first time,they were felt.
A week had passed since Li Yuan began teaching the children their characters.Seven mornings, seven nights,and in between: laughter, whispers, marks drawn in the dirt,and something that could never be replaced.
He hadn't expected teaching letters would touch his heart like this.They wrote with dirty hands,but their hearts were clean.One by one, their voices began to change—not because they knew more,but because they began to feel.
That night, Li Yuan returned home.The lantern light hung low,and the scent of steamed rice filled the air.
Li Haoming sat outside,his hands holding a bamboo knife,carving a spoon from old wood.The sound of carving was soft... almost like the patter of light rain.
"Yuan'er.""How was your day?"
Li Yuan sat beside him,his eyes on the carving—simple, yet full of care.
"Different, Father. I... feel like something is growing inside me.Not strength, not knowledge,but... a desire to stay."
Li Haoming smiled.He placed the spoon on his lap.
"Once, I hoped you would return.But I knew your fate was not here.""Now, you are here—not because you're boundbut because you choose to be."
Li Yuan lowered his head.His hand touched the earth.Warm and soft, like the memories of childhood.
"Father... may I stay a little longer?"
"This house never cast you out, Yuan'er.It only waited for you to return."
The night breeze passed through the trees.Li Yuan looked to the sky.
In the distance,the children he had taught were lighting small lanternsin front of their homes.
"Will they remember the characters?"Li Yuan asked quietly.
Li Haoming replied,
"It's not the characters they will remember.But the feeling of writing their own namefor the very first time."
And so the night was silent,but not empty.Something was quietly growinglike the roots of a tree, slowly,but surely,finding its own water.