After returning from the river and the simple conversation that lingered in his heart,
Li Yuan walked slowly toward the old library—
the place that had become the witness to the growing seed of understanding within him.
His footsteps moved gently along the dusty path,
passing through swaying grass touched by the wind,
and birds chirping as if greeting a boy
on a quiet journey to find meaning in life.
When he arrived at the library,
he reopened the old books that had begun to feel familiar in his mind.
His hands brushed across the dusty pages
that held voices from the past.
"You won't find all the answers here…
But you'll find the drive to search further."
Li Yuan read in silence.
His eyes didn't just see words,
but absorbed the experiences, emotions, and stillness
of writers who had once lived.
Time passed unnoticed, and eventually,
he closed the book slowly and returned it to its place.
Evening had begun to descend.
The sun leaned westward, painting the sky a pale orange.
His stomach began to growl—he knew it was time to go home.
On the way back, Li Yuan stopped by the small market on the village's edge.
He selected a few fresh vegetables and a small cut of meat—just enough for tonight's dinner.
His hands were now more practiced; he had grown used to measuring needs and prices.
"Mother… if only you were still here," he thought,
"I would cook for you."
After shopping, he returned home.
The sky had dimmed, and lantern light had replaced the sun's glow.
Night was approaching.
But for Li Yuan, the day had not been just another routine.
That day was another step…
on a quiet path toward understanding—
that life is not only about strength,
but also about small habits
that nurture maturity.
The sky had turned dark,
and stars slowly appeared between thin clouds.
In a simple wooden house, surrounded by the scent of earth and firewood,
Li Yuan had finished cooking rice and preparing dinner.
He waited for his father, Li Haoming, to return
from checking the hunting traps near the forest.
When the sound of heavy footsteps and slow breathing approached,
Li Yuan looked out.
His father entered, nodding slightly, his face calm but tired.
They ate together with few words.
Only the sound of spoons touching bowls
and the soft crackle of fire kept them company.
After the meal, Li Haoming stood and said in a low voice:
"Yuan… come with me to the backyard.
The sky is clear tonight.
A good time to train both body and heart."
Li Yuan nodded.
Even though his body was tired after a day of reading, playing, and shopping,
a small flame burned in his chest—a desire to learn, to grow.
In the yard, lit only by the moon and a small lantern,
Li Haoming stood tall.
"Listen carefully," he said.
"Martial arts are not just about strength.
It's about the rhythm of breath, the stillness of the heart,
and the steadiness of one's steps."
He lowered into a stance,
knees bent slightly, hands forming a circle in front of his chest,
his body still like stone.
"Do this… hold it as long as you can.
Feel the flow of your body, your breath—
and think about your intention."
Li Yuan imitated him.
His knees began to tremble after a few minutes.
His breathing grew heavy.
But he did not give up.
"Father… this is hard," he murmured.
"Exactly. And that's what will shape you."
Li Haoming then taught him straight punches, evasive movements,
and the basics of maintaining balance.
Each motion was slow—like moving meditation.
After nearly an hour, they sat on the ground.
Li Haoming looked up at the sky and said:
"Long ago… I learned this from your grandfather.
But I never mastered it.
I was too eager to become strong,
and I neglected the foundation."
He looked at Li Yuan,
his eyes deep and gentle.
"I don't want you to make the same mistake.
The world beyond this village is vast… and dangerous.
But it is also beautiful,
for those who are ready."
Li Yuan lowered his head,
sweat dripping from his brow.
But inside, something felt lighter—
like a small step toward the future.
That night wasn't just a training session.
It was an inheritance.
A bond between father and son.
And the first step…
toward a strength not only in the hands,
but also in the heart.