It had been four months since Li Yuan left the last village he ever set foot in. He had passed through forests, climbed silent mountains, and the wind had become his only faithful companion. He sought nothing, yet his feet and breath kept moving.
That day, the mist fell heavier than usual. The air felt quieter, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Beyond the old trees, hanging like the fingers of time, Li Yuan saw something shadows of houses, faint… unmoving… like memories that refused to fade.
The village appeared without warning.
There were no roosters crowing, no children running. Even the wind seemed to stop as he stepped inside. Wild grass grew between the stones of the path. Yet the houses looked whole. Not rotting, not ruined just silent. A silence not born from abandonment, but as if they had never been lived in.
"Is this… the lost village?"
Li Yuan whispered, his eyes scanning every corner.
The doors of the houses were tightly shut. There was no smoke from kitchens, no footprints in the earth. And yet strangely, not a speck of dust covered the windowsills. Everything was clean… too clean for a place long forgotten.
He walked past a courtyard. The soil was fertile. Wildflowers bloomed in perfect order, as if tended by unseen hands.
Li Yuan stood in the heart of the village. The silence was piercing, yet he felt no fear. On the contrary, there was a warmth in his chest as if this place was welcoming him, not as a stranger, but as someone long awaited.
He sat down before a small house and closed his eyes.
His breath was calm. In that stillness, Li Yuan did not wonder why this village existed. He did not ask whether this place was real, a dream, or a reflection from within his own inner world.
He simply felt...
This was where his steps were meant to arrive.
Night fell slowly. The sky above the village turned a greyish purple no stars, only a pale moon like an eye peeking through the mist.
Li Yuan opened the door to one of the houses. It was unlocked. Dustless. And like everything else too intact for a place left behind by time.
Inside, silence. Wooden walls without decoration, a clean dining table without plates, and in the corner of the room, something made Li Yuan stop in his tracks:
a tall bookshelf, reaching to the ceiling.
The books… were not ordinary.
There were no titles on the spines, no authors on the covers. The pages were yellowed, but not fragile. He picked one up carefully. As he opened it, the letters inside began to move… forming sentences, as if adapting to his thoughts.
"At a time that has never come, one who walks without direction will find a place that has never left. There, the world within will open its first eye."
Li Yuan closed the book slowly. Then opened another.
"It is not the house that calls you,
but the understanding waiting to be recognized.
This world is not merely the world.
Every place is a mirror."
Li Yuan's heartbeat quickened. He opened more books, and the more he read, the more he felt that these books… were writing him.
As if this village knew who he was.
As if this place hadn't been found—
but had known him before he ever arrived.
On the final page of one book, a single sentence was written:
"If you are reading this, then your inner world has opened its first gate."
Li Yuan closed his eyes.
Not from fear,
but because understanding was slowly blooming within him.
This world—both outer and inner—had long been whispering to one another.
And that night, Li Yuan knew one truth:
This village was never lost.
It was waiting.
And he… was the one who had finally come.