Li Yuan stood at the edge of the lake, where he had meditated for five days in the real world—fifty years in the inner world. The wind brushed against his face. The light of breath still glowed faintly in his chest. But for the first time since he had left the village, he felt a pull from the past.
"I have to go back," he whispered to himself. "I can't keep wandering without direction."
His steps halted. He gazed into the distance, where the flat land met the sky, where the small village had once been home. In the silence, a single name surfaced from the deepest corners of his heart.
"Father…"
He had been gone for nearly ten years. To a cultivator, that time was but a blink. But to ordinary humans—it was a long stretch. His father had not trained, had not cultivated. His body must have aged. If a human life lasts only eighty years, what of a father who was already old when he left home?
Li Yuan clenched his fists.
"I'm here… because of everything he taught me. Yet I don't even know if he's still alive."
His chest tightened. Not from doubt, but from the realization that he had walked so far… he had forgotten how quickly the world changed behind him.
He took a breath.
That breath carried light, and the light reflected the shadow of a home—the shadow of memories he had kept since childhood: his father's footsteps in the morning, the rough hands that embraced him in silence, the deep voice that never forced.
"My life is long now. I have time." Li Yuan's gaze hardened. "But my father doesn't."
The decision was made. No hesitation. A long road awaited him ahead, but this time… he turned back.
He would return.
Not because he had stopped, but because there was something deeper than merely moving forward. Daojing is not just understanding the outer world. It is also understanding what must never be left behind.
In the pale morning light, Li Yuan walked. That silent world was left behind. The wind began to flow from the east—the direction of home.
The morning wind carried the scent of wet earth. Dew clung to the tips of leaves, reflecting the soft light of a shy sun.Li Yuan stood at the edge of a narrow path, his eyes gazing far to the east—toward the place called "origin."
It had been nearly ten years since he left that village.But not a single day had passed without him remembering his father's face, the sound of wood being struck as he repaired the house, or the simple aroma of morning porridge once made by a mother long gone.
"Have I gone too far from home... or too deep into myself?"
The journey home didn't begin with footsteps, but with a quiet desire that slowly grew.He knew the world had changed.But more importantly: he had changed.
Out in the world, he had met silence, questioned the mist, stared into a mirror within breath, and listened to voices that were never spoken.He had walked beyond maps, beyond names, and approached something that could not be captured in words.
But now, his steps turned toward the one direction he had avoided for years:Home.
"Father… are you still waiting in silence? Has your face now been touched by time?"
Step by step, he walked the descending path, where small stones and dry leaves greeted him.He was neither hurried nor hesitant.The world within him remained quiet, but each second now felt dense, as though every breath carried a new meaning.
From time to time, he passed through small villages.Children ran by, a farmer waved, a dog barked without suspicion.Li Yuan responded only with a faint smile.He was no longer the naïve village boy,but he was also not a cultivator from legends.
He was simply someone returning—with understanding.
"I bring no power, Father…But I bring time, and silence."
The sky blushed with dusk as he arrived at a high cliff overlooking the valley.In the distance, the faint shadow of Ziran Village appeared—like a memory fading at the edges.
His eyes grew warm.
Not from longing,but from the time that could never be reclaimed.Yet he understood:Coming home was not about making up for lost time,but about filling the space that still remained.
He sat on a large stone, drawing a deep breath.In that breath, he felt the world.He felt himself.
And for the first time in so long,he whispered a simple word that came from the heart:
"I'm home."