By the riverside, where childhood memories once played,
where small laughter used to fill the peaceful air...
now, there is only silence.
Li Yuan sat alone.
The wind touched his black hair,
leaves fell and drifted along with the calm but indifferent current.
His eyes, usually resolute… now looked weary.
He gazed at the water, not to see his reflection,
but to understand a silence that could not be explained.
Then, light footsteps were heard behind him.
Mu Yi and Fan Tu approached slowly—
not like they usually did, running and shouting.
This time, they walked carefully,
as if afraid to disturb the sadness hanging in the air.
"Li Yuan…"
"I… I'm sorry for your loss," Mu Yi said softly,
his voice sincere, unlike his usual cheerful tone.
"We… heard from Father," added Fan Tu, a little hesitantly.
Li Yuan remained silent.
The water in front of him kept flowing, like time that couldn't be stopped.
His eyes were blank… but inside them, a storm of feelings swirled—hard to name.
After a moment, in a quiet voice, he asked:
"Does death… mean the end of everything?"
Mu Yi and Fan Tu looked at each other.
Neither of them knew the answer. They were only children.
But Mu Yi finally replied in a soft voice:
"I don't know, Yuan…
But I think, as long as we remember… they're still alive in our hearts."
Li Yuan nodded slowly.
Then whispered:
"I want to be stronger… not to take revenge, not to fight…
But so I won't lose again… so I can protect those who are left."
The evening wind grew colder.
The sun sank lower, brushing the river's shimmering surface.
The three children sat together in silence.
Not because they didn't know what to say,
but because sometimes silence is the only language that truly understands sorrow.
The next morning, the sunlight parted the thin mist that cloaked the village.
The blue sky seemed to hold back tears,
giving the world space to breathe.
Li Yuan woke earlier than usual,
without a word, without complaint, just quiet, steady steps.
He walked through the village paths,
passing the sound of roosters and the breath of the morning breeze.
But his steps didn't lead to the fields, nor to the river,
but to a place almost forgotten by time—The Hidden Ancient Library.
The building lay behind shrubs and large stones, veiled by time and silence.
But to Li Yuan, it was a gateway…
not only to knowledge, but to understanding the meaning of life itself.
As he opened the old wooden door with a soft creak,
a fine dust floated up, as if welcoming him back.
Inside, the worn wooden shelves still stood.
There lay the traces of those who came before—
words born from suffering, hope, downfall, and enlightenment.
Li Yuan walked through the narrow aisles between the shelves,
his fingers brushing the dusty spines of books,
and in his heart, a question arose:
"How did people of the past walk their paths…? Did they ever feel like this?"
He opened one book—the writing was faded, but its meaning felt close.
"We do not write to be remembered, but so our hearts' voices won't be buried with time."
Another book said:
"In every destruction, a soul still stands. In every loss, an understanding grows."
Li Yuan let out a long breath.
He still didn't know much about the world,
but one thing now felt clearer:
The traces left behind are not only words,
but feelings.
And those feelings would be his guide.
"I will read them all," Li Yuan whispered in his heart,
"even if it takes a lifetime."
And among those pages…
a small light began to glow within him.