After the old man's departure, Li Yuan felt an emptiness that was difficult to describe. The wooden house where they used to study was now empty and silent. No voices, no scent of aged tea, no wrinkled hand pointing at characters drawn on the ground.
Yet, the old master's final words lingered in his mind:
"I hope you will enter a library and read the books of those who came before… and I hope you will understand."
Since that day, Li Yuan often walked alone, wandering through parts of the village seldom visited. In his heart, he felt a calling—like a faint voice guiding him toward something long forgotten.
One afternoon, as the sunlight turned red and the shadows of trees grew long, Li Yuan passed a rocky area behind a small hill near the village. Behind bushes and dry branches, he found something unusual—a stone door, half-buried in earth and moss, as if swallowed by time.
His hand touched the surface of the door. Cold. Rough. Yet there was a strange resonance within him.
With effort, he pushed it open slowly. The sound of ancient stone grinding echoed heavily… and then, it opened.
Darkness. Silence. Thick dust danced in the air.
Inside, a vast space revealed itself, with towering wooden shelves. Dozens—no, hundreds—of ancient books lay there—some covered in dust, some damaged, but many still intact. The walls were engraved with old symbols, and in the center of the room stood a round stone table, carved with circular patterns like rings of understanding.
"Is this… a library?"
Li Yuan stepped inside. Each step stirred dust untouched for decades—perhaps centuries. He picked up one book and opened its first page. The script was ancient, yet he could read it. Somehow.
Within his heart, a voice arose—not from outside, but from within:
"Knowledge is never lost… only waiting for the right soul to find it."
From that day on, every evening after working in the fields, Li Yuan quietly returned to the hidden library. He read. He reflected. He absorbed not just the written content, but the meaning behind it.
And the more he read, the more he changed.
Days passed since Li Yuan discovered the forgotten library. He read dozens of books—on history, agriculture, the heavens, the earth, and things he didn't entirely understand.
But one night, as a gentle breeze slipped through the cracks in the stone wall and his small lantern began to dim, Li Yuan opened a book thicker and more worn than the others. Its title had faded, but the symbol on its cover seemed to flow—as if alive.
He read it slowly. Word by word.
"Everything has its law... even silence has rhythm."
At that moment, he fell silent. His heartbeat slowed. The sounds around him vanished. Only those words echoed in his mind.
He closed his eyes.
And within him… something trembled.
Water.
He thought of the river where he used to play. He remembered how water flowed without shape, yet always adapted. He recalled the faces of his friends, their laughter. And he remembered himself—always quiet, observing, trying to understand.
"Water… is not just a substance. It is the essence of adaptation and calm."
Suddenly, a warm sensation rose in his chest. As if something had opened. A door—but not a physical one. Something in his mind, his heart… his soul.
His eyes opened.
And he saw.
Before his open eyes, the pages that once held ordinary text began to change. New writings appeared slowly, as if written by an invisible hand.
"If you can feel the true nature of water, then you have touched one of the Laws of the World."
Li Yuan clutched his chest.
"This… is understanding?"
There was no loud sound. No blinding light. But from that night on, Li Yuan could sense the flow of water—even when invisible to the naked eye. He could tell when the river would flood, when the earth would be wet, and even the direction of morning dew.
He had only touched a tiny sliver, yet the world now seemed deeper, more alive.
This was the beginning of something vast.
A person who understands—not because they were taught, but because they felt.