The second day on the continent of ice began with Li Yuan walking toward the point where he had seen movement yesterday.
There was no rush. Just a steady pace across the vast landscape of ice, his feet making a subtle creak with every touch on the crystal surface.
The wind blew with the same force as yesterday—constant, cold, carrying dancing ice crystals. The sky was pale with a low sun, creating long shadows from every ice formation.
Within a ten-meter radius around him, there was still no life. Just a reflecting silence, an active but soundless stillness.
But Li Yuan knew there was life here. He had felt it yesterday, and now with his Water Comprehension extended a little further—just a few kilometers, not to the whole world—he could feel them more clearly.
Moving creatures. That breathed. That lived despite an environment that would kill almost all other life.
After a few hours of walking, he saw them.
First just white shapes in the distance, hard to distinguish from the ice around them. But as Li Yuan got closer, the shapes became clearer.
Birds.
They were large—larger than the birds Li Yuan had seen in the north. Their feathers were completely white except for dark eyes and black beaks. They stood at the edge of an ice crack, looking in as if waiting for something.
Li Yuan stopped at a safe distance—not wanting to disturb or frighten them.
And he observed.
These birds moved in an economical way—no wasted motion, no wasted energy. They stood still for a long time, then suddenly moved with speed and precision, their beaks diving into the crack and coming out with small fish.
They are hunting in the water trapped beneath the ice, Li Yuan mused. Waiting for the moment when the fish rise close enough to the surface to be caught.
Within the ten-meter radius when he was close enough, he heard their intentions—not like hearing human intentions with their complexity of emotions and abstract thoughts, but something simpler and purer.
Hunger. Patience. An intense focus on survival.
There were no thoughts of the future or the past. Only an awareness of the now—was there fish, was there danger, was there warmth to be found.
Life simplified to its essence, Li Yuan observed. Nothing superfluous. Nothing unnecessary. Only what is needed to survive in an unforgiving environment.
One of the birds turned—a dark eye looking directly at Li Yuan.
There was no fear in that gaze. Only an assessment. Was this creature a threat? Was it a competitor for food?
After a moment, the bird decided Li Yuan was not a threat and returned its focus to hunting.
Li Yuan smiled faintly—to be accepted by wild life with indifference was the most sincere form of acceptance.
He spent the next hour observing the birds, then moved further to find other life.
He found a colony of creatures that resembled seals—large, fatty bodies, thick fur, big eyes for seeing under the water. They lay at the edge of a large crack in the ice, some sleeping, some going in and out of the water.
Li Yuan observed from a distance, not wanting to disturb. Within the ten-meter radius when he was close enough, he heard their intentions—the satisfaction after a meal, the pleasant tiredness from swimming, the warmth from lying together in a group.
Community, he mused. Even here, in such a harsh place, creatures seek warmth and security in a community.
One of the creatures—larger than the others, maybe a mature male—raised its head and looked at Li Yuan. For a moment, their eyes met.
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard a curiosity—this creature had never seen anything like Li Yuan before. Not dangerous, not like a known predator, but also not like prey.
Just... alien.
The creature barked—a loud, deep sound that echoed in the stillness. The others in the colony raised their heads, on alert.
Li Yuan backed away slowly—the universal gesture for "I am not a threat." After a few steps, the colony relaxed and returned to their activities.
In the afternoon, Li Yuan found something that made him stop.
Tracks. Not the tracks of a bird or a seal but larger, heavier tracks. Paws that created deep indentations in the ice, a walking pattern that suggested a large four-legged creature.
A predator, Li Yuan realized. Even here there are predators—creatures that hunt the birds and seals.
He followed the tracks for a few kilometers, curious about what made them.
And he found it at the edge of an ice cliff—a creature that resembled a bear but was larger, more massive. Its fur was white with a creamy color at the tips, its muscles were clear beneath its thick skin, its eyes were yellow and sharp.
The creature was eating—the remains of a seal it had caught, meat and fat being eaten with methodical efficiency.
Li Yuan stopped at a safe distance—this was an apex predator, and although he was not afraid for his own safety, he didn't want to disturb or challenge it.
The bear raised its head and looked. Blood around its muzzle, eyes that assessed the potential threat.
Within the ten-meter radius—when Li Yuan decided to approach a little closer with caution—he heard a different intention from the birds and seals.
Intelligence. Not like human intelligence but a keen awareness of the environment, an ability to assess a situation, to make tactical decisions.
The bear saw Li Yuan and decided—after a few seconds of assessment—that Li Yuan was not a threat to its meal. Too far away, not moving aggressively, not showing signs of wanting to compete.
It returned to eating, but its eyes never completely left Li Yuan. Wary but not aggressive.
Respect, Li Yuan mused. Not fear but respect. An awareness that we are both powerful creatures, and conflict is not necessary.
After the bear finished eating, it stood up—an impressive height, maybe three meters when standing on its hind legs—and walked away with a slow but powerful stride.
Li Yuan watched it go, carrying a new understanding with him.
Life finds a way, he mused. Even in the harshest, coldest, most inhospitable place for life—life finds a way to adapt, to survive, to even thrive.
The birds that hunt with patience. The seals that find warmth in community. The bear that hunts with intelligence and power.
All different adaptations for the same environment. All valid strategies for survival.
Night came—or at least, the version of night in this region. The sun did not completely set but descended very low on the horizon, creating a long twilight with a surreal light.
Li Yuan found a sheltered spot—a crack in an ice formation that provided protection from the wind—and sat with his back leaning against a crystal wall.
He took out his package of belongings and checked its contents. Everything was intact—the black shell from Shell Island, the map from Eldric, the bread from Kira (which he didn't need but carried as a symbol), the empty journal waiting to be filled.
Li Yuan opened the journal and for the first time, he began to write.
Not with ink—he had no pen here. But with his finger that touched the page, leaving a trace of subtle spiritual energy, forming characters that could only be read by those with spiritual sensitivity.
He wrote about the one-year journey through the sea. About learning to hear the ice. About arriving at the continent of ice and finding adapted life.
And he wrote about the understanding that was beginning to form:
Water doesn't just flow; it remembers. Ice is a silent archive that keeps time, sounds, and wounds stored in its crystal structure. My Water Comprehension is shifting from 'moving' to 'listening'.
I'm learning to read the silence: the resonance of the solid-liquid-gas phases as a three-breath rhythm. I've found a source that isn't a spring, but a silence that reflects everything.
Life here teaches me that adaptation is about finding a way that fits the environment, not forcing the environment to change. The birds, the seals, the bear—all find their own way.
And I... I will find my way too. Not just to survive here but to understand what the ice wants to teach.
He closed the journal and looked at the endless twilight sky.
Within the ten-meter radius, there was still only silence. But now, after observing life here, that silence felt different.
Not empty but full—full of possibilities, of adaptations that had occurred for thousands of years, of life that found a way even when everything seemed impossible.
I will stay here for a long time, Li Yuan decided. No rush for meditation or cultivation immediately. First, I will learn from this place—from the ice, from the life that adapts, from the silence that reflects.
And then, when I have absorbed enough, when my understanding has matured with observation and direct experience... then I will sit in a meditation that might last longer than I ever have before.
A cultivation that will bring my Water Comprehension to a new phase.
From understanding flow to understanding silence.
From hearing a changing story to reading an eternal memory.
From water that carries to ice that stores.
The wind blew, carrying ice crystals that shone in the twilight light.
And Li Yuan sat in the silence that reflected everything, listening to the stillness, beginning a new chapter of a cultivation that had lasted fifteen thousand years.
But which felt, for the first time in a very long time, like it was truly new.