The sky that day was pale blue,
like old paper left too long in the sun.
Not fully bright,
yet not cloudy either.
As if even the sky was in contemplation,
watching the world without saying much.
In the calm forest,
Li Yuan sat upon a flat stone.
The stone was cold in the morning,
but warmed under the midday sun.
From his seat, he could see the sky through gently swaying leaves.
The sound of wind brushing the foliage was like a whisper,
and the sky remained silent—always silent.
He had been in the forest for nearly two weeks.
No guards, no teachers, no maps.
Only himself,
nature, and something unseen yet always with him:
understanding.
At first, he thought silence was emptiness.
But the longer he stayed,
the more he realized: silence is a space full of presence.
Silence holds time,
holds change,
holds questions,
holds answers left unspoken.
The sky never replies,
but the sky always witnesses.
It sees leaves fall and grow again.
It sees night arrive and morning return.
It sees Li Yuan's footsteps,
and keeps them in quiet memory.
"Why do I feel like I'm being watched?"
"Not with fear, but with presence."
Li Yuan lifted his head and looked up at the sky,
and the sky seemed to gaze back.
Not with eyes,
but with its silence.
He recalled something a wandering sage once told him as a child:
"The sky is an unwritten journal.
If you can stay silent long enough,
you'll begin to hear what it says."
Back then, Li Yuan didn't understand.
How could the sky write without a pen?
How could it speak without a voice?
Now he was beginning to understand.
The sky doesn't speak like humans.
The sky speaks through time.
When the wind moves,
that is a letter.
When clouds drift,
that is a sentence.
When night arrives soundlessly,
that is a period.
Day fourteen.
He hadn't been counting on purpose,
but his body knew.
He felt lighter.
Not from food,
but because his thoughts were becoming one with nature.
Birds that once feared him now perched closer.
Flowing water now felt like soft conversation.
And the sky?
The sky hadn't changed,
but Li Yuan's way of seeing it had.
"Has the sky always been like this,
or am I only now beginning to truly see?"
That question didn't need an answer.
Because at that moment,
Li Yuan wasn't seeking answers,
but letting understanding come without force.
Some nights he slept beneath the stars,
and when it rained, he simply leaned against a tree.
Wet clothes didn't matter.
Shivering wasn't a disturbance.
Because deep within,
he knew:
silence was warmer than fire.
"Sky, you see me, don't you?"
"You know I'm here, don't you?"
The sky didn't respond.
But in its stillness,
Li Yuan felt as if he had never truly been alone.
The silence that wrapped around him wasn't emptiness,
but an embrace.
That morning, when he opened his eyes,
the sky looked slightly different.
Still pale blue,
but with golden hues dancing at its edges.
Like a smile,
or perhaps a quiet thank you from nature.
Li Yuan smiled gently.
He stood slowly,
brushed the dust from his clothes,
and looked at the sky one last time that day.
"I haven't finished learning from your silence,
but I must keep walking."
The sky remained quiet.
But Li Yuan felt… the sky was nodding.
His steps were not heavy.
Because he knew,
silence had given him something he could never find in a city,
in an academy,
or in any book.
Silence had shaped him.
Silence had awakened him:
that the one who says the most,
is often the one who says nothing at all.
The tree stood alone.
Not very tall,
not very large,
but enough to make anyone stop and look twice.
Its leaves were dark green,
but among the thick foliage, there was a faint shimmer—
not a bright light,
but a light that seemed to… breathe.
Li Yuan found it by chance,
or perhaps,
like many things he had encountered lately,
he was meant to find it.
He had walked quite far from his stone seat.
His steps weren't guided by a map,
but by a feeling.
A feeling that didn't come from the stomach,
nor from logic,
but from a subtle vibration within him.
"I feel as if light is calling me."
And that light, it turned out,
didn't come from the sun.
It came from within the tree itself.
The tree grew in a small dip in the land,
surrounded by roots that stretched out like ancient hands.
But unlike the other trees around it,
it didn't seem to absorb light—
it seemed to keep it.
Li Yuan walked closer,
each step made the air around him feel warmer.
Not hot,
but warm like a mother's chest—
soothing and lifting burdens.
He stood beneath the tree,
then closed his eyes.
No sound.
No wind.
Only a gentle pulse from within the tree's trunk that seemed to touch his breath.
"Do you… live in a different way?"
Li Yuan placed his palm on the bark.
Its surface was rough,
but it didn't resist his touch.
As if the tree had been waiting for someone
who could feel its light.
And as Li Yuan breathed slowly,
something connected.
Not magic.
Not power.
But understanding.
This tree was not just a tree.
It was a keeper—
not a guardian,
not a giver,
but a keeper of light from a time unmeasured.
"Did you once see the first sunrise?"
"Or do you carry the light of all those who once sat beneath you?"
Li Yuan opened his eyes.
The leaves above his head now looked different.
They quivered softly,
as if answering,
though no sound was made.
Then, slowly, from within the trunk of the tree,
a small beam of light emerged.
Not blinding.
Not harsh on the eyes.
But just enough to warm the heart.
The light floated,
danced gently before Li Yuan.
He didn't touch it.
He only watched,
and felt.
"You don't want to give anything, do you?"
"You just want me to know that you exist."
The light spun slowly,
then returned to the tree.
Everything returned to how it was.
But not for Li Yuan.
Because he knew,
he had seen something
that could not be seen with ordinary eyes.
As he walked away from the tree,
he carried nothing in his hands.
But within him,
a new understanding took root:
That not all light wants to shine.
Some only wish to be kept.
To be remembered.
To become part of time.
To become… silence.
And he knew,
someday far in the future,
he might return.
Not to ask for anything,
but simply to sit in stillness beneath that tree
and keep the light together.