The next morning, mist returned to Ziran Village,but this time it was thinner,as if reluctant to cover the names that now hung from every home.
Li Yuan was already sitting beneath the great tree,gazing at the blank board at the end of the road.Suddenly, light footsteps approached.
A little girl, maybe eight years old,stood before him with shining eyes."I... I want to write my name," she whispered,her fingers clutching the brush uncertainly.
"What is your name?" Li Yuan asked gently.
"Xiao Lan," she replied, her voice barely audible.
Li Yuan nodded and guided her trembling hand.Letter by letter appeared — X-I-A-O L-A-N —slanted and imperfect, but clear.
"Well done," he said."Now, where would you like to hang it?"
Xiao Lan pointed to a small hut on the edge of the village —her home, which had never had a sign.With Li Yuan's help, the board was placed.Her face lit up,as if for the first time,she felt truly seen.
Throughout the day, others who had hesitated began approaching the once-empty board:an elderly woman who couldn't read,a shy young man,even a traveler who had arrived just the night before.They each marked something —a letter, a symbol, a stroke whatever meant "I exist" to them.
By sunset, the board was full.Li Yuan stood before it,reading each mark with a full heart.
"Yuan'er," whispered Li Haoming,"you didn't just give them names.You gave them the courage to fill space."
Li Yuan smiled.In the distance, house lamps began to glow,and those names — though simple —shone in the darknesslike tiny stars that had finally found their sky.
That morning arrived like any other.The wind gently brushed the tall grass growing by the house.Li Yuan sat beneath the same tree.A simple board rested on his lap,bearing a few modest characters.
The children began arriving, one by one,bringing small stones, scrap wood, and dried leaves as paper.They sat around Li Yuan without being told.
"Teacher!"shouted one of the children, laughing.
Li Yuan turned to look.He paused, then offered a faint smile.
"Don't call me teacher," he said softly.
"But... you taught us letters and meanings," replied the child."Isn't that what a teacher does?"
Li Yuan didn't answer right away.He looked up at the sky.Clouds drifted slowly—like time,like understanding.
"I'm just someone who walked a few steps ahead of you.What I know isn't necessarily right.What you understand may one day go deeper than I ever could."
The children watched his face.They didn't grasp every word,but Li Yuan's voice calmed them,like morning water.
That day, they learned the character Shēng (生) — life.
Li Yuan wrote it in the soil.
"This character means life. But life doesn't end with this word."
"What do you mean?" asked one child.
"A character is only a symbol.Life is the motion behind it."
One by one, they tried to write it themselves.Some made mistakes, some forgot lines.But Li Yuan didn't correct them.He let it be.
"Understanding doesn't come from instant correction,but from the courage to keep trying," he said.
As the sun began to dip, the children said their goodbyes.Some bowed their heads and whispered,
"See you tomorrow, Teacher..."
Li Yuan simply smiled.He no longer resisted.Sometimes, denial is another form of pride.Let them call him whatever they wish.
He walked home,passing name boards,passing the laughter of children in the distance.
In his heart,he knew—he was not a teacher.But if his journey could light even one soul,then that was enough.
"Understanding is not about teaching.It's about walking together."
That morning was quiet.The sky was overcast, but there was no rain.Li Yuan sat again beneath the tree in the village square.The children had arrived earlier than usual.They brought small boards they had made themselves.Today, they were asked to write their names.
One by one, the children stepped forward.They wrote their names with pride.Some strokes were still shaky,but full of spirit.
Then, a girl—the youngest among them—stepped to the front.She carried a piece of old bamboo board.Her hand trembled as she began to write.
The first character: Lin (林).The second: Mu (木).Her hand stopped.Her eyes began to well up.
"This... is my mother's name," she whispered.
The wind seemed to pause.Everyone fell silent.
Li Yuan looked at the characters.The ink, made from burnt wood, appeared faint on the board.But within his chest,a voice etched itself deeply.
"She's no longer here," the girl said softly."But I want to write her name... so I don't forget."
Li Yuan lowered his gaze.Something stirred within him—not sadness,but a profound understanding.
Learning is not about becoming clever.Learning is not merely about knowing letters or sentences.Learning is a path that binds the heart.A bond to memory.A bond to those who are gone,yet still live within us.
He stepped closer, and gently helped the child complete the third character.That small hand wrote slowly,but firmly.No more trembling.
"This character," said Li Yuan,"is not only on the board. It is already written in your heart."
The child nodded.Then smiled.And for the first time,Li Yuan felt...that letters could become a bridge between this world and the one beyond.
That day, not a single letter was taught.But everyone learned something.
"Words may be forgotten.""But characters written with the heart will remain forever."