On the first day after the farewell with Hassan, Li Yuan woke before dawn—a habit that never changed even though he didn't really sleep.
He walked to the harbor to watch the Seafarer's Star sail back north. Hassan stood at the helm, and for a moment their eyes met across the distance. Neither waved—just a silent acknowledgment, a final respectful nod.
Then the ship disappeared on the morning horizon, carrying with it a chapter of a journey that had taught Li Yuan more about human community than he had expected.
Now, he was alone at the end of the known world.
The Port of the Southern Winds was a city with a different rhythm from other places Li Yuan had visited.
There was no exaggerated frontier excitement like in some border towns. Instead, there was a heavy pragmatism—a collective awareness that they lived on the edge, that further south there was only danger and death.
Li Yuan spent the first three days just walking, observing, listening.
The market was different here. Traders sold items that were more functional than decorative—thick clothes, oils for wind-resistant lamps, sturdy iron tools. There was no fancy jewelry or fine silk cloth like in Tavish. Just things that lasted, that served a purpose.
Within a ten-meter radius wherever he moved, Li Yuan heard the intentions of the inhabitants—tired but determined, cautious but not paranoid, cynical about luck but not having lost hope entirely.
This was a city built by people who knew that life wasn't easy, but who chose to live here for their own reasons.
On the fourth day, Li Yuan found a small tavern near the docks—a place where sailors and traders gathered to share stories and warm drinks.
The owner was a middle-aged woman with pale skin wrinkled from the cold wind, brown hair that was starting to gray, and sharp green eyes.
"A new visitor," she said when Li Yuan entered—not a question. "From the north, judging by your clothes."
"Yes," Li Yuan admitted, sitting at a table near the window.
"How long will you stay?"
"A few months. Maybe until spring."
The woman nodded as she poured tea—a warm and slightly bitter drink, perfect for the cold air. "Most who come from the north only stay for a short while. They don't like the cold. But you... you don't look like you'd run from a little wind."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard her intention—a genuine curiosity with no hidden agenda. This woman had run this tavern long enough to be able to read people, and she sensed that Li Yuan was different from a normal traveler.
"I have been through worse weather," Li Yuan said—a massive understatement.
The woman smiled—an expression that changed her face from hard to warm. "My name is Kira. I've run this tavern for twenty years. If you need a place to eat or hear stories, this is the place."
"Li Yuan. And I will remember that."
During the next hour, sailors and traders began to arrive—an evening ritual that was clearly a tradition. They talked about trade, about ships arriving and leaving, about the increasingly cold weather.
And they talked about the south.
"I heard Captain Verrik tried again last year," an old sailor with a gray beard said. "A sturdy ship, an experienced crew. He said he would map the south and come back with fortune."
"And?" another sailor asked even though it was clear he already knew the answer.
"Never came back. Like the twenty ships before him."
A moment of silence, then someone raised a mug. "To Verrik and his crew. May the sea give them rest."
The others followed—a ritual of honoring the lost.
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard a mix of intentions—sadness for a lost friend, relief that it wasn't them who went, and underneath it all, a curiosity that never truly died about what was in the south.
On the seventh day, Li Yuan found a small library—a sturdy stone building in a quieter district of the city.
The keeper was an old man with very dark skin, a bald and shiny head, and thick glasses. He sat among shelves full of old books, scrolls, and maps.
"It's rare for anyone to come here," he said when Li Yuan entered. "Most residents prefer the tavern to the library."
"The tavern has its place," Li Yuan said. "But the library has older stories."
The man smiled with satisfaction. "You understand. My name is Eldric. Welcome to the only library at the end of the world."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Eldric's intention—a solitude that had been accepted, a deep love for knowledge, and a sincere joy at finding someone who appreciated what he guarded.
"I'm looking for information about the south," Li Yuan said directly.
Eldric nodded as if he had expected this. "Of course. Everyone who comes to the library looks for that. Follow me."
He led Li Yuan to the back of the library where there was a large table covered with worn maps, journals, and notes.
"This is all we know about the south. Which isn't much." Eldric touched the largest map. "The coastline up to a hundred kilometers. After that, only estimates based on inconsistent reports."
"Reports from who?"
"From those who tried and failed. Some came back after a few days, telling of sudden storms, ice that began to appear, temperatures that dropped so fast that ropes froze."
Eldric opened a journal—the handwriting was shaky. "This is from Captain Margot, fifty years ago. She was the only one who came back after going far enough to see... something."
Li Yuan read with attention:
"The tenth day. The temperature dropped until our breath froze in the air. The seawater began to form ice at the edges. We saw in the distance—not an island but a wall. A white wall that towered like a mountain. Ice. A land of ice that stretched as far as the eye could see.
We couldn't get closer. A storm came from nowhere—a wind that tore our sails, waves that flipped two ships in our crew. We turned back, fleeing with our lives. Of the twelve crew, only five survived to return.
I will never go back. The south is not for humans. It is a territory that belongs to ice and death alone."
Eldric closed the journal slowly. "Margot lived for ten years after that, but she never sailed again. She said the nightmares about the wall of ice never stopped."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Eldric's intention—not trying to scare him but giving him the truth he knew. This was not a legend or superstition. This was a testimony from someone who saw and survived.
"Why do you want to know about the south?" Eldric asked.
"Because I want to go there."
Eldric looked at him with an expression that was a mix of shock and concern. "You will die. No human can survive there."
"Maybe," Li Yuan said calmly. "But I have to try to understand."
"Understand what?"
Li Yuan was silent for a long time, looking at the map with the vast white empty area. "Water in a different form. Ice that stores stories in a way that liquid water cannot. A silence that might teach something that flow cannot."
Eldric looked at him with eyes that tried to see deeper. "You speak like a philosopher. Or a madman. I'm not sure which."
"Maybe both," Li Yuan admitted with a faint smile.
Eldric was silent for a moment, then took a smaller map from a drawer. "This is the best map we have. Not accurate—nothing can be accurate without proper exploration—but it's a compilation of all the reports we've gathered over a hundred years."
He handed the map to Li Yuan. "Take this. If you are really going to go, at least go with as much knowledge as is available."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I still think you're crazy." Eldric paused. "But if by some impossible chance you survive and return... I want to hear your story. And I will write it, for those who come after you."
The first week ended with Li Yuan standing on the southern edge of the city—the furthest point that was still considered safe, where the docks ended and the rocky beach began.
From here, he could look south without any obstruction. The sea stretched out, darker than in the north, moving with a pattern that seemed more ferocious even though today was relatively calm.
And in the distance—so far away that it was almost invisible—there was a different color on the horizon. White. Very faint, but it was there.
Ice.
Within five centimeters around his body, he felt the water in the air—a humidity that carried traces of extreme cold, molecules that had touched ice and carried that memory back.
Through his Water Comprehension, he heard something different from everything he had ever felt before.
Not a flowing story. Not a dynamic rhythm. But... an echo. Like a sound reflected from a hard and smooth surface, coming back with a changed quality.
Ice reflects, he mused. It doesn't absorb or carry but stores and reflects. Like a mirror for spiritual resonance.
And if ice can reflect... what will I hear when I stand in the middle of it? When I am surrounded by mirrors that hold thousands of years of frozen water memory?
A question that couldn't be answered from here.
Only by going there.
But not now. Not in the first week.
He would spend time here—learning from the inhabitants, reading every available note, preparing mentally and spiritually for what he would find there.
Because this wasn't just about survival. His awareness body would survive.
This was about understanding. About listening to something fundamentally different from everything he had learned.
About water that stops flowing and begins to remember.
Li Yuan turned and walked back to the city, carrying with him the map from Eldric, the black shell from Shell Island, and a quiet determination.
Winter had just begun.
And the true journey—the journey into the silence that reflects everything—was still waiting.