The seventh day on Narau Island.
Li Yuan walked along the edge of the forest, his eyes scanning the wild plants growing at the foot of the slope. Something inside him stirred—not his Water Understanding or Daojing resonance, but an older, deeper memory.
Body memory.
His fingers stopped in front of a small bush with heart-shaped leaves and tiny white flowers. Unconsciously, he reached out and crushed a leaf between his fingers. A fresh aroma filled the air—like mint, but with a bitter hint at the end.
"Qinghe cao," he whispered into the morning breeze.
Calming grass. For fevers and headaches. How did he know? The knowledge simply surfaced, like water flowing from a hidden spring.
Li Yuan knelt, examining the plant more carefully. Yes, the shape of the leaves was correct. The texture of the surface matched. Even the way the small flowers clustered in a spiral pattern—all details stored in the almost-forgotten corners of his memory.
Fifteen thousand years, he thought with wonder. And the body still remembers.
He released the crushed leaf and rose slowly. His Ganjing sense flowed within a one-meter radius, but this time he wasn't just feeling the life around him—he was feeling its usefulness. Which plants were edible. Which had medicinal properties. Which were dangerous.
The knowledge of a wandering healer from a long-forgotten era.
Li Yuan continued his journey along the forest, and the deeper he went, the more memories awakened. He found roots that could soothe a stomachache. Bark that contained a substance for healing wounds. Even small mushrooms growing on a dead tree trunk—a cure for a stubborn cough.
"It's like reading a book that has long been closed," he murmured, peeling a small piece of bark with his fingernail. The scent was familiar—bitter yet refreshing.
But something was strange. Some of the plants he recognized had variations he had never seen before. Larger leaves. Flowers with a slightly different color. A stronger or weaker scent.
Evolution, he realized. Even plants evolve over thousands of years.
Li Yuan collected some samples in a cloth bag he had made from tree fibers. Not to use them—his consciousness body didn't need medicine. But to study them. To understand how this island had developed in isolation.
A perfect natural laboratory to observe the slow changes of life.
In the afternoon, Li Yuan sat in front of his wooden house, arranging the plants he had collected. He divided them into groups based on their properties: anti-inflammatory, calming, antiseptic, energy-boosting.
His hands moved with surprising familiarity, even though he was not consciously directing them. Fingers that had touched leaves and roots thousands of times in a life that was almost forgotten.
"Thirty-seven species," he counted aloud. "Twenty-nine I recognize. Eight that are... different."
The different ones were what interested him. A creeping vine with deep purple flowers whose aroma resembled lavender, but with properties that seemed to soothe the digestive system. Silver moss that grew on damp stones, which gave a strange cooling sensation when touched.
Li Yuan took a piece of the silver moss, crushing it between his fingers. The cool sensation spread on his skin, followed by a strangely fresh feeling.
Perhaps a potent antipyretic, he thought. Or even something more.
He brought the moss closer to his nose, inhaling its scent carefully. There was something there—something that reminded him of...
Water.
Not ordinary water, but the first rain after a long drought. Water that carried the message of life to come.
The Water understanding in his Wenjing domain trembled softly, resonating with something in the moss. Not strong, but real.
Li Yuan placed the moss carefully on a large leaf that served as a base. "Interesting," he whispered. "Even the plants on this island have a resonance with the Dao."
He continued his examination, this time with a more sensitive Ganjing sense. Within the one-meter radius, he began to feel the subtle vibrations of the plants—not ordinary life, but something deeper.
It was as if the island itself had evolved in isolation, not just biologically but also spiritually. Plants that had grown for thousands of years without human interference, developing a natural resonance with the Dao that species elsewhere might not possess.
"A unique ecosystem," Li Yuan mused, looking out at the expanse of green that stretched around him. "Not just physically, but spiritually as well."
Night fell with the sound of light rain tapping on the lontar roof. Li Yuan sat inside his house, the plants he had classified arranged before him.
Outside, the island breathed in a quiet rhythm. There were no human sounds, no traces of civilization. Only the natural sounds of life following instinct.
But in that silence, Li Yuan began to hear something else.
With his Water Understanding in the Wenjing domain, he could hear the story carried by every drop of rain. Stories of clouds forming over the ocean. Of winds carrying water vapor thousands of kilometers. Of cycles that had been going on for millions of years.
And within those stories, there were whispers of deeper things. Of other islands in this vast ocean. Of distant lands on the horizon. Of life that flourished in various forms throughout the world.
"Not everything is isolated," Li Yuan realized. "Even in isolation, there are connections."
He closed his eyes and expanded his consciousness, not through his Ganjing sense but through his Water Understanding. In a wider radius—far beyond the one-meter limit—he began to feel the network of water that connected this island to the larger world.
Underground rivers that flowed to the sea. Ocean currents that carried nutrients from distant continents. The cycle of evaporation and condensation that connected every drop of water on earth in one large, complex system.
"Everything is connected," he whispered into the darkness. "Even in solitude, no one is truly alone."
The thought brought a strange peace. For four thousand years at the bottom of the sea, he had felt completely isolated from the world. But now he realized that the isolation was just an illusion. The water he had once touched in the depths of the ocean had once been part of the rain that watered this forest. The oxygen he breathed had once been released by trees on a distant continent.
Everything was one large system, one interconnected network of life through the most basic elements.
Li Yuan opened his eyes and looked at the plants before him with a new perspective. They were not just specimens to be studied. They were part of the same network—teachers who could teach about adaptation, resilience, and growth in isolation.
"Tomorrow," he said to himself, "I will begin to study them more seriously."
Not just as medicinal plants, but as manifestations of the Dao that had evolved in a unique way on this remote island.
Perhaps in this isolation, he could find a new understanding of how life—in all its forms—finds a way to thrive and connect, even when separated from others.
The rain continued to fall, and in its sound, Li Yuan heard a familiar yet always new lullaby.
A song about connection in solitude.
A song about growth in isolation.
A song about life finding its own way.