The second day on Tavish began with a different task from the previous day. Hassan divided the crew—half stayed on the ship to keep watch and finish minor repairs, the other half went to the market to buy supplies.
Li Yuan was assigned to go to the market with Zahir and Idris—a task that required negotiation skills and a keen eye for quality.
Tavish market was different from other markets Li Yuan had visited. It was bigger, more crowded, and most notably—more diverse. Traders from dozens of different islands gathered here, each stall displaying goods that reflected their culture of origin.
There were traders with dark skin from the western archipelagos, selling cloth with intricate patterns and striking colors. There were traders with pale skin and slanted eyes from the north, selling fine ceramics and rare tea. There were traders with reddish-brown skin and hair braided with beads, selling spices whose aroma was so strong it made the eyes water.
"We'll start with rice and wheat," Zahir said, pulling a list from his pouch. "We need at least two months' worth of supplies—we don't know when we'll find another island with good prices."
They walked through the rows of stalls, and Li Yuan observed with calm attention. Within a ten-meter radius around him—which meant he heard the intentions of many people as they moved through the crowd—he felt a variety of emotions and intentions.
Traders who wanted to sell at a high price but were willing to negotiate. Buyers who tried to hide their interest to get a better price. Thieves who watched from the corners, looking for a careless target. Hungry children staring at food with a painful desire.
Zahir stopped at a large rice stall, run by a middle-aged woman with dark skin and a brightly colored scarf on her head.
"How much for fifty kilograms of white rice?" Zahir asked in the common trade language—a mix of different dialects that had evolved into a lingua franca in the archipelagos.
The woman named a price. Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard her intention—the price she named was a little high, but not excessive. She expected negotiation.
Zahir responded with a lower offer—a universal negotiation dance in any market.
While they argued in a friendly but firm tone, Li Yuan noticed a small child standing not far away—a girl maybe seven years old with tattered clothes and bare feet.
Within the ten-meter radius, he heard the child's intention with painful clarity: deep hunger, a desire to steal but a fear of the consequences, and underneath it all—a desperation that a child her age shouldn't have.
Li Yuan moved quietly, walking closer to the girl. He knelt to match their height, and spoke in a low voice so as not to attract attention.
"Are you hungry?"
The girl looked at him with wide eyes—shocked that someone had noticed her. Within the ten-meter radius, now very close, Li Yuan heard her fear increase—afraid she would be punished or chased away.
"It's okay," Li Yuan said gently. "I won't hurt you."
He took a few coins from his pouch—not a lot, just enough to buy simple food for a few days. "Here. Buy food for yourself and your family."
The girl stared at the coins with an expression of disbelief. Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard her intention shift from fear to confusion, then to a gratitude so strong it almost made his heart ache.
"Thank you, sir," she whispered in a barely audible voice, then took the coins and ran before Li Yuan could change his mind.
"You are too soft."
Li Yuan stood to find an old man standing beside him—a trader from the next stall who sold dried fish. The man had skin wrinkled like dried leather, thin white hair, and eyes that were still sharp despite his age.
"Street children are many here. If you give to one, dozens more will come tomorrow."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard this man's intention—not cruelty but a pragmatism born from seeing the same problem over and over with no real solution.
"Maybe," Li Yuan admitted. "But that child is hungry today. And I have coins that can help today. Tomorrow is tomorrow's problem."
The old man looked at him with an expression that was hard to read, then nodded slowly. "You are a stranger here. You don't know how bad the problem is."
"Tell me."
The man was silent for a moment, then sighed—a sound that carried the weight of years of frustration.
"Tavish is a trade hub. A lot of money flows through this island. But most of that money never touches the local people—only the big traders, warehouse owners, port officials get a share."
"Ordinary people—like me, like that girl's family—we just survive on the leftovers. And when a bad season comes, when trade slows, there is no one to help us."
He looked in the direction the girl had run. "That girl's father was a fisherman. His boat sank three months ago. Now the mother and her three children live by begging and taking whatever work is available."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the deep sadness in this man's intention—not just for that family but for dozens of other families in a similar situation.
"And no one helps?" Li Yuan asked.
"Some try. A few of the better traders. The local temple gives food once a week. But it's not enough. Never enough."
The man looked at Li Yuan with eyes that tried to read him. "But you—you're not from here. You have no obligation to care. Why did you give?"
Li Yuan was silent for a moment, contemplating how to answer honestly.
"Because I have seen enough hunger in my life to know that whenever we can alleviate a little of it—even for just one person, even for just one day—we should do it."
The old man looked at him for a long time, then nodded with slow respect. "You talk like a man who has lived long and seen much."
Longer than you can imagine, Li Yuan thought but didn't say.
Zahir finished the negotiation at a fair price—a little below the trader's initial offer but still providing a reasonable profit for both. The rice would be delivered to the ship in the afternoon.
They continued through the market—buying wheat, salted fish, dried vegetables, beans. Every stall was a new negotiation, every trader with their own strategy.
But Li Yuan noticed a pattern. Within the ten-meter radius as they moved, he heard the traders' intentions—and he realized that the majority of them were honest. They tried to get a good price, yes, but they weren't trying to openly cheat.
There were exceptions, of course. One spice trader tried to sell stale goods at a premium price. Zahir—with a trained eye—noticed it and walked away with a polite but firm refusal.
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the trader's annoyance—angry that his trick didn't work but also not too surprised. As if he was used to being tried and rejected.
"You have to be careful," Idris said as they walked away. "Many traders here will take advantage of the inexperienced."
"But not all," Li Yuan observed. "Most seem honest."
"Yes," Zahir agreed. "Tavish has a reputation as a fair market—for the most part. That's why traders from all over the archipelagos come here. But like everywhere, there are good ones and bad ones."
They stopped at a stall that sold fresh fruits—a luxury at sea where most food had to be preserved. The owner was a young man with light brown skin and a friendly smile.
"The freshest fruit in the market!" he announced proudly. "Picked this morning from my own garden."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard his intention—a genuine pride in his product and honesty in his claim. These fruits were indeed fresh.
Zahir bought a few baskets—mangoes, papayas, bananas—at a fair price without much negotiation needed.
"Are you sailors?" the fruit seller asked as he packed.
"Yes. We're sailing south."
"How far?"
"As far as we can go."
The fruit seller looked at Li Yuan with curiosity. "And you? You don't look like a sailor."
"I'm just a traveler. Seeing the world, learning about different places."
"A good place to learn," the seller said, gesturing around the market. "Tavish is a miniature of the whole archipelagos—all kinds of people, all kinds of cultures, all kinds of ways of life gathered in one place."
"What have you learned from living here?" Li Yuan asked with sincere curiosity.
The seller paused, considering the question seriously. "That difference doesn't have to mean conflict. The people here are from dozens of different islands, speak dozens of different languages, worship in different ways. But we all come to the same market, trade with the same coins, eat at the same stalls."
"We find common ground not by becoming the same, but by appreciating what each person brings."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard a deep intention behind those words—not just an abstract philosophy but a conviction born from life experience.
"That is a valuable lesson," Li Yuan said. "Many places fail to learn it."
"Yes," the seller agreed with a faint sadness. "I hear stories from traders who come from the north—about cities where different races can't live together, where people are killed just because they are different."
He shrugged. "In Tavish, we're too busy trading to hate. And that might be the best reason not to hate—because we need each other to survive."
Li Yuan nodded in understanding. He had seen the same pattern in many places—when economic necessity forces cooperation, differences become less important. Not perfect, but pragmatic.
In the afternoon, they returned to the ship with enough supplies for two months—barrels of rice and wheat, baskets of fruit and vegetables, bags of beans and spices.
Hassan checked everything with a meticulous eye, then nodded with satisfaction. "Good work. Fair prices, good quality."
He looked at Li Yuan. "Zahir said you gave money to a street child."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Hassan's intention—not judgment but curiosity about his motivation.
"The child was hungry. I had some spare money. It seemed like the right thing to do."
Hassan nodded slowly. "Many people would walk past without seeing. Or see but not care."
"I have walked past too much in my life," Li Yuan said simply. "Sometimes you have to stop and help—even if it's just one person, even if it doesn't change the system that created the problem."
"Because if everyone waits to change the system before helping an individual, no one will ever be helped."
Hassan looked at him with an expression that was hard to read. "You have an interesting way of thinking, Li Yuan. Practical but also idealistic. Realistic but also full of hope."
"It is the result of living long enough to see that both are necessary—idealism to know what is right, realism to know what is possible."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard something shift in Hassan's intention—a deep respect and also a kind of... recognition. Like this captain was starting to understand that his passenger carried a wisdom born from experience that far surpassed his apparent age.
"Tomorrow we sail again," Hassan said. "The next island is Miren Island—small, mostly fishermen, but they have good fresh water and sometimes pearls for trade."
"After that, we enter an area I've never visited—islands I've only heard about in other traders' stories. Do you still want to continue?"
"Yes," Li Yuan answered without hesitation. "I still want to see further."
Hassan nodded in acceptance. "Then we sail together until the limit I can take you. After that, you'll have to find another ship—or another way."
"I understand. And I am grateful for how far you are willing to take me."
On the last night in Tavish, Li Yuan walked alone through the now-quiet market. Most of the stalls had closed, traders returning to their homes or lodgings.
But a few were still open—food stalls serving sailors working the night shift, pubs for those who couldn't sleep, and other places that functioned when the sun went down.
Li Yuan walked without a destination, just letting his feet carry him. And he found himself in a quieter part of the market, where the stalls were smaller and less crowded.
There, he saw the girl he had given money to that morning. She was sitting on the steps of an old building with two smaller children—her siblings, maybe—sharing food from a leaf-wrapped package.
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard their intention—a deep relief from eating their fill for the first time in days, unspoken gratitude, and underneath it all—anxiety about tomorrow, about the day after, about how they would survive when the money ran out.
Li Yuan did not approach. He didn't want to disturb their moment or make them feel indebted.
He just stood there for a moment, in the shadows, looking at the three children who ate with an appetite born of real hunger.
And he mused—as he often did—about the injustice of a system that made children hungry on an island filled with trading wealth.
He could give more money. He could give enough to feed them for months. But money was only a temporary solution. Their father was still dead. The system was still broken. And he couldn't fix the system by giving money.
But I also can't fix the system by doing nothing, he mused.
So I do what I can—help one person at a time, knowing that it's not enough, but also knowing that doing nothing would be worse.
And maybe—just maybe—if enough people do the same, the accumulation of small acts will create a bigger change.
Or maybe not. Maybe the system is too big, too strong, too entrenched to be changed by individual kindness.
But I can't live with the philosophy that because I can't fix everything, I shouldn't do anything.
So I keep walking. Keep giving when I can. Keep hoping that somehow, in ways I can't predict, small acts will mean something.
The girl turned—perhaps sensing someone's presence—and her eyes met Li Yuan's.
Within the ten-meter radius, he heard the girl's recognition, and a burst of gratitude so strong it was almost visible.
The girl stood and bowed with a deep respect—a gesture that was too formal for a child her age, but the only way she knew to express thanks.
Li Yuan nodded back—a simple acknowledgment—then turned and walked away.
Leaving them to eat in peace.
Carrying with him the thoughts about justice, systems, and individual acts that are never enough but can't be ignored.
Tomorrow, the Seafarer's Star would sail again.
And Li Yuan would continue his journey—not seeking to fix the world, not pretending he could change a broken system with the actions of one person.
But also not stopping to give when he could.
Because that was the only way to live with integrity—to do what is right even when you know it won't change everything.
And to accept that sometimes, changing one moment for one person is enough.