After two weeks of walking through the fertile plains, Li Yuan arrived at a bustling port city—a place vastly different from the small tribes he had left behind.
The city—named Angin Laut, or Sea Wind, according to a sign at the entrance—was a meeting place of many worlds. Ships were docked at the long piers, bringing merchants from distant lands. The market was filled with the sounds of dozens of different languages. People of various races walked side by side—some with skin as dark as night, some as pale as snow, some with features Li Yuan recognized from the far eastern territories.
He walked through the crowded streets with a calm curiosity. He wasn't looking for anything specific, just observing the rhythm of port life—the way merchants negotiated with expressive hand gestures, the way sailors spoke with thick accents, the way children ran between the legs of adults with a universal laughter.
This is different from Kael and Valen, he mused as he observed. There, difference created tension because the two tribes lived too close yet too separate. Here, difference is an everyday reality—so common that no one makes a fuss about it. There's no purity to protect because there was never any purity to begin with.
He found a small tavern on the edge of the market—a simple place with worn wooden tables and a strong aroma of spices from the kitchen. He sat down and ordered soup—not because he was hungry, but because eating was a way to observe without looking strange.
The tavern owner—a middle-aged woman with a friendly face and intelligent eyes—brought the soup with a smile.
"A new wanderer?" she asked in a familiar tone. "We don't get too many wanderers coming from the north. Most come from the sea or from the eastern road."
"I prefer the less-traveled path," Li Yuan replied with a gentle smile.
The woman laughed. "I used to be like that too. Before I found this place and decided to stop wandering. Sometimes a place calls you, you know? Tells you, 'this is home, even though you never planned to stay.'"
As she spoke, Li Yuan heard through his Wenjing Realm a warm intention—not just the polite friendliness of a merchant, but a genuine curiosity about this stranger. There was no suspicion, no fear. Just the openness that comes from living in a city where strangers are a common occurrence.
"This city seems peaceful," Li Yuan observed. "Despite so many differences here."
The woman sat down in a chair across from him—the tavern didn't seem too busy at this hour. "Peaceful? Yes, most of the time. But that's not because we all love each other. It's because we need each other."
She pointed to the window, to the docks in the distance. "The merchants from the east bring silk and spices. The sailors from the north bring fish and amber. The craftsmen from the south bring pottery and cloth. None of us can survive on our own. So we... adapt. Learn each other's languages. Find ways to live together even if we don't always understand each other's traditions."
"But surely there are conflicts sometimes," Li Yuan said—not a question, just a statement inviting elaboration.
"Of course," the woman admitted. "Last week there was a big argument between a tobacco merchant from the west and a cloth merchant from the east. Something about an unfair price, about a monopoly. It almost turned into a riot."
"What happened?"
"The Harbor Council intervened. It's a group made up of representatives from each major trading community. They listened to both sides, looked at the records, and made a decision that left no one completely happy but also no one completely wronged." The woman shrugged. "Not perfect, but it works well enough."
Li Yuan nodded with understanding. Institutionalized pragmatism. Not ideal, not beautiful, but functional. Perhaps that is the key to peace in a diverse place—not trying to make everyone agree or love each other, but creating a structure where conflicts can be resolved without violence.
He spent several days in Sea Wind City, wandering, observing, listening to conversations in the market and on the docks. And what he heard—both with his ordinary ears and through his Wenjing Realm when he was close enough to the speakers—confirmed what the tavern owner had said.
This was not a utopia. There were tensions, there were prejudices, there were small injustices every day. But there were also mechanisms to handle them—social structures that had evolved over generations to allow profoundly different people to coexist without killing each other.
Perhaps this is the lesson, Li Yuan mused as he sat on a pier one afternoon, watching the ships come and go. Kael tried to maintain purity and almost died for it. Valen was more flexible but also more chaotic. But a place like this—a place that embraces diversity not because of idealistic values but because of economic necessity—perhaps found a middle ground.
Not because they are morally better. Just because they have no choice. And sometimes, the absence of choice creates a creativity that does not emerge when people have the luxury of remaining separate.
He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the port—the shouts of sailors, the creaking of ship ropes, the splashing of water, the laughter from a nearby tavern. A messy but vibrant symphony of life.
On the third night in the city, Li Yuan sat on the roof of the inn where he was staying—not because he couldn't afford a better room, but because he preferred a high place with a wide view.
The moon rose over the sea, casting a silver light on the dark water's surface. And in the stillness of the night, Li Yuan felt something he had felt several times before—a faint call, like a barely audible vibration at the edge of his consciousness.
Not danger. Not conflict. Just... something. Something to the south, across the sea.
He didn't know what it was. But he had learned—in fifteen thousand years—not to ignore calls like this.
Maybe it's time to board a ship, he mused with something akin to anticipation. It's been a long time since I crossed the sea. And maybe whatever is there... maybe it is the next lesson waiting.
He wouldn't rush. He would spend a few more days in Sea Wind City, observing, learning, maybe even helping with a small conflict if the opportunity arose.
But when the time was right, he would look for a ship sailing south.
And he would see where the path—or in this case, the sea—would take him.
Because that is the nature of the wanderer: never truly arriving, only continuing to walk towards the next horizon, the next lesson, the next understanding.
Forever moving.
Forever searching.
Forever learning from a world that never stops teaching those who are willing to listen.