That morning, Li Yuan brought an old wooden board to the center of the village.The board was blank.No markings, no colors, no names.
The villagers slowly gathered,mostly the adults.They weren't used to sitting in a circle like the children.But today,they sat — side by side, in silence,waiting.
"What is that, Yuan'er?" asked Mr. Tuo, the mat weaver.
Li Yuan placed the board on the ground.He looked at it for a moment,then said softly:
"This... isn't for writing lessons.""It's for writing who we are."
Some chuckled,some exchanged glances.Li Yuan didn't explain further.He simply handed a piece of charcoalto the middle-aged woman sitting furthest to the left.
"Go ahead."
The woman fell silent.Her hands trembled slightly.She held the charcoal as if it might break.Then, slowly,she wrote a single character.
"Mother."
There was no explanation.No words spoken.But everyone understood.
After that, they came forward one by one.Someone wrote "Field."Another wrote "Child."One wrote "Loneliness."And one simply drew a line...like a river flowing toward a place unnamed.
Li Yuan didn't judge their writing.He simply observed —not recording with memory,but with feeling.
That night, Li Yuan sat with his father on the veranda.
"They didn't come because of the characters," Li Yuan said quietly."They came because they wanted to be known."
Li Haoming looked into the house,toward the board now covered in uneven marks.
"That is no longer a blank board.""It is... our heart.""All this time, we were waiting for someone willing to listen,not just speak."
Li Yuan looked up at the stars.
"Maybe I'm the same, Father.""I didn't come here to teach.""I came so that I, too, could be known...by a world I had forgotten."
And the night passed.Silent, yet full of meaning.And the once-empty boardhad become something—something that no longer needed to be explained.
Beneath the old tree at the center of Ziran Village,the morning wind drifted gently,lifting dust that had fallen from old books.
Li Yuan sat cross-legged,eight children gathered around him.They gazed at the board now filled with new characters.Some they could read, some they couldn't yet understand.
That day, it wasn't just the children who came.
Several adults stood at a distance.They didn't sit.They only watched —with eyes full of hesitation,yet also hope.
It was Fan Tu who first spoke up.
"Sir! Come on, have a seat. Don't just stand there!""If you're shy, you can sit a little farther back!"
Mu Yi laughed as he brought over an extra stool borrowed from a neighbor's home.
"We all started out not knowing anything. There's no shame in that."
Slowly, one by one, they came closer.Some still holding hoes from the fields,some carrying babies in slings,some bringing nothing but hope.
Li Yuan didn't say much.He opened a new page.And wrote a single large character:
"Water."
"This character… you already know it," said Li Yuan."Not from a book,but from the river, from the rain,from the tears in your wife's eyes when she was sad."
No one laughed.No one spoke.But they nodded.
Li Yuan then wrote a second character:"Earth."
"Under your feet every day.But that doesn't mean you know its name."
That day wasn't just another lesson.It was the day when unheard voiceswere finally given space.
Mu Yi held books open for the children.Fan Tu redrew the characters in the dirt,so even those in the back could see.
When the sun had begun leaning westward,Li Yuan looked at them all.
"We don't learn to rise above others.""We learn... so we won't be lost when we speak.""So the world knows we were here."
An old man raised his hand, his voice rough.
"Li Yuan... is it still possible for me to learn to read?"
Li Yuan looked at him, and smiled.
"As long as you can still see and hear,as long as your heart still wants to...then yes — always."
That day, for the first time,the quiet villagerslearned to write their own names.
Not to be famous.Not to be clever.But so they would not be forgottenby a world that keeps on moving.