Li Yuan spent three days in Qingxi Valley—not because he needed to physically rest, but because there was something about the place that made him want to observe longer, to understand more deeply how this community truly functioned in daily life, not just in theory.
On the first day, he spent time working in the rice fields with the farmers. The hands that had existed for fifteen thousand years now planted rice seeds, feeling the texture of the wet soil, listening to simple conversations about the weather, the harvest, and plans for the coming season.
Through his Wenjing Realm, he heard the farmers' intentions as they worked: satisfaction from a job well done, gratitude for the fertile land, minor worries about whether the rain would come on time—but no paralyzing anxiety, no fear of starvation or exploitation.
"You work like someone who has been doing this all your life," commented a young farmer named Chen who was working next to Li Yuan. "But your hands don't have calluses like ours."
Li Yuan smiled gently.
"I have done many things in my travels," he said with a simplicity that did not fully answer the question. "But I have always found that working with one's hands helps the mind to calm down."
Chen nodded with understanding.
"My grandfather often said the same thing. He said that when the hands are busy with honest work, the mind is free to contemplate deeper matters."
They worked in a comfortable silence for a while, with only the sound of the wind through the rice plants and the occasional bird call breaking the tranquility.
"May I ask," Li Yuan finally said, "do you ever feel... limited? Living in this isolated valley, never seeing the wider world?"
Chen paused for a moment, contemplating the question seriously.
"Sometimes," he admitted with honesty. "Especially when I was young. I wondered about the big cities, about the vast kingdoms, about the adventures I could have."
"But then my grandfather told me stories about the outside world—about the war he experienced, about the oppression he witnessed, about how people out there often live in fear or greed."
Chen looked around the valley with a peaceful expression.
"And I realized that what we have here—this tranquility, this security, this community—is something rare and precious. I may never see the wider world. But I have something that many people in that world never have: a meaningful life, a caring community, and freedom from constant fear."
Li Yuan listened with deep attention. In Chen's simple words, he heard a wisdom that is often lost in more complex societies: that happiness does not always come from extensive experience or great achievements, but from the contentment found in meaningful simplicity.
On the second day, Li Yuan spent time with the village children in the simple school run by some of the older residents. There was no formal curriculum or complicated textbooks—only practical teachings on reading, writing, counting, and most importantly, on the principles of the community.
An old teacher named Mei Lin—a woman with neatly tied white hair and eyes that shone with a sharp intelligence—was teaching the children about the valley's history.
"Why did our great-grandfathers leave the Kingdom of Liang?" she asked the class.
A small girl raised her hand enthusiastically.
"Because the king and nobles treated them badly! They took all the food and let the people starve!"
"That's true," Mei Lin confirmed in a gentle tone. "But there is a deeper reason. Who can tell me?"
An older boy thought for a moment before answering.
"Because the system was wrong. It wasn't just that the king was bad, but the system that made some people more important than others just because of their birth."
Mei Lin smiled in agreement.
"Exactly. And that's why in Qingxi Valley, we don't have a system like that. Here, a person's worth is determined by their actions, not by who their parents were or where they were born."
She looked out at the class with a serious expression.
"But our system only works if we all remember these principles. If we forget, if we start to think that some of us are better than others, if we start to accumulate power or wealth—then we will become like the Kingdom of Liang. And everything that our great-grandfathers built will be lost."
A thoughtful silence fell over the classroom. Li Yuan, who was sitting in a corner as an observer, felt the weight of this teaching. This was not just a history lesson—it was a transmission of fundamental values, a conscious effort to ensure that the next generation did not forget the principles that made their community special.
After class ended, Li Yuan approached Mei Lin.
"Your teaching... is very different from what I have seen elsewhere," he said in a tone full of respect. "In most places, children are taught to be obedient to authority, to accept hierarchy as natural and inevitable. But you teach them to question the system, to understand that social structures are a choice, not destiny."
Mei Lin nodded with understanding.
"That is the most important lesson," she said with seriousness. "If children grow up believing that hierarchy is natural, that some people are born to rule and others to serve, then they will accept injustice as inevitable."
"But if they understand that systems are human creations—that they can be changed, improved, or replaced—then they have the power to build something better."
She looked at Li Yuan with a sharp and assessing gaze.
"You are not an ordinary wanderer, are you? I sense something about you... something ancient and profound."
Li Yuan neither confirmed nor denied, only smiled gently.
"I am someone who has seen many systems, many communities. And I can say honestly that what you have here is rare and precious."
Mei Lin accepted the compliment with humility.
"We are not perfect," she said with honesty. "We have conflicts, mistakes, failures. But we try. And we never forget why we try."
On the third day, Li Yuan attended a community meeting where some important decisions needed to be made. The main issue was whether to build a new bridge across one of the rivers, which would make access to the rice fields on the other side easier but would require a lot of labor and resources.
The meeting was held in the same communal room where Li Yuan first met Bai Shen. Almost all the adults were present—perhaps two hundred people—sitting in a large circle with no position being specifically "higher" than any other.
Bai Shen opened the meeting in a calm but authoritative tone.
"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered to discuss the new bridge proposal. Chen and his work group have surveyed the location and estimate that it will require two months of work with the participation of at least half the community. Let us hear the arguments for and against."
A young farmer stepped forward—the same one who had worked with Li Yuan in the rice fields.
"I support the construction of the bridge," he said in a clear voice. "Right now, we have to walk an hour-long detour to reach the fields on the east side. With the bridge, that time is cut to ten minutes. That means more time for productive work or rest."
A middle-aged woman stood up to respond.
"I understand the benefits, but I am concerned about the cost. Two months is a long time. It means labor taken away from other tasks. And if there is an emergency during the construction—a storm that damages the crops, someone who becomes gravely ill—we may not have the resources to handle it."
The discussion continued in an orderly and respectful manner. Everyone who wanted to speak was given a chance. No one shouted or interrupted. There were no attempts to dominate or manipulate. Only an honest exchange of different perspectives.
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the intentions of the participants: a sincere desire to make the best decision for the community, not for personal gain. There were genuine disagreements, but no animosity, no hidden agendas.
After nearly two hours of discussion, Bai Shen summarized the arguments from both sides and called for a vote.
"Those who support the construction of the bridge, raise your hands."
About two-thirds of the hands went up.
"Those who oppose?"
About one-third went up.
Bai Shen nodded with calm acceptance.
"Then the bridge will be built. But we will do it in a way that minimizes the risks—starting after the harvest is complete, saving a larger emergency supply, and ensuring that we have enough people for the other essential tasks."
What was most striking to Li Yuan was what happened after the vote. Those who had opposed were not angry or feeling marginalized. Instead, some of them voluntarily offered to help with the construction, saying that even though they didn't agree with the decision, they would support the will of the majority.
This is what is often lost, Li Yuan mused with deep satisfaction. The ability to disagree without becoming enemies. The ability to accept a collective decision even when it is not your personal preference. The ability to see different opinions as a healthy part of the process, not as a threat to cohesion.
On the evening of the third day, Li Yuan sat with Bai Shen outside the village head's house, looking up at the stars twinkling in the dark sky. The air was cool but not cold, and there was the gentle scent of night-blooming flowers.
"You will be leaving tomorrow, won't you?" Bai Shen asked in a tone of acceptance, not sadness.
"Yes," Li Yuan confirmed with simplicity. "I have learned what I needed to learn here. Now it is time to continue the journey."
Bai Shen nodded with understanding.
"May I ask what you learned?"
Li Yuan contemplated the question for a moment before answering.
"I have seen two very different models in the last few weeks," he said in a tone that carried the depth of his reflection. "In the Kingdom of Tianshan, I saw a system built on hierarchy and oppression, which eventually collapsed through a bloody revolution. And here, in Qingxi Valley, I see a community built on equality and collaboration, which has endured for one hundred years."
"And what makes the difference, do you think?" Bai Shen asked with genuine curiosity.
"Memory," Li Yuan answered with a simplicity that carried the weight of a fundamental truth. "Tianshan forgot. The king forgot why power was given to him—to serve the people, not to exploit them. The people forgot their collective strength until the suffering became so extreme that they had no choice but to remember."
"But Qingxi did not forget. You actively, consciously, maintain the memory of why this community exists, of the suffering that brought your great-grandfathers here, of the principles on which they were founded."
Li Yuan turned to look at Bai Shen with eyes that carried the depth of fifteen thousand years of experience.
"That is the most valuable lesson I can take from here: that a good system is not enough. Even the best system will fail if the people forget why it exists and what principles it is based on."
Bai Shen nodded slowly, absorbing the words.
"Do you think we will endure? Or eventually, will we also forget and collapse like so many other communities?"
It was an honest question, without illusion or excessive idealism.
Li Yuan contemplated the question with the seriousness it deserved.
"I do not know," he admitted with a brutal but also compassionate honesty. "No one can predict the future with certainty. Perhaps the next generations will continue to remember. Or perhaps, slowly, the memory will fade—especially if the community never experiences a crisis that reminds them why their principles are important."
"But," he added in a warmer tone, "what I can say with certainty is this: you have created something rare and precious. You have proven that it is possible to live in a better way, that equality and collaboration can work, that humans do not have to be trapped in a cycle of domination and rebellion."
"And even if one day Qingxi Valley collapses—even if the memory eventually fades—the fact that it once existed, that it succeeded for one hundred years, is proof that an alternative is possible."
"And that proof, in itself, is a gift to the world."
They sat in silence for a long time, two people separated by vast ages and experiences but connected by a shared understanding of what truly matters.
Finally, Bai Shen spoke again.
"Thank you for coming here. Thank you for seeing us—not with idealization, but with honesty. And thank you for reminding me why the work we do here is important, even when it feels small and insignificant."
Li Yuan smiled with a warmth that was rare for someone who had lived as long as he had.
"No work done with integrity is insignificant," he said with gentle finality. "And no community built with love is small, regardless of its physical size."
The dawn of the next morning arrived with a soft and warm light. Li Yuan stood at the edge of the valley, in the narrow gap between the cliffs that had brought him to this place three days ago.
Behind him, the people of Qingxi Valley had gathered to say goodbye—not with a formal ceremony or long speeches, but with a simple presence that showed respect and affection.
Bai Shen stepped forward, offering a small bag containing food for the journey.
"For your path," he said with simplicity.
Li Yuan accepted it with gratitude.
"I will not forget what I have learned here," he said with an earnestness that could not be mistaken. "And one day, if I meet another community that is struggling to find its way, I will tell them the story of Qingxi Valley—of the people who did not forget, and because of that, succeeded."
With those last words, Li Yuan turned and began walking through the gap between the cliffs, back to the wider world.
The journey continued, as it always did.
But now he carried a new lesson—not about how to overthrow a corrupt system, but about how to sustain a good one.
And on the long journey that still lay ahead, that lesson would prove to be just as valuable.