The fourth month arrived like dewcalm, without noise, yet bringing something new.
That old building,once hidden behind bushes and time,now stands with a face no longer unfamiliar.
Its walls are still made of wood,its roof still creaks when the wind blows too hard,but something is differenta soul slowly returning.
The library is ready.Ready to be opened.Not just by hands, but by hearts.
Li Yuan stands before it.No ceremony, no cheers.Just himself, the morning air,and the sound of children who don't yet know that today will be a day they remember.
He thinks of a name.Not with his mind,but with a feeling that grew slowly,from the days of writing names in the dirt,to nights of reading between old shelves.
"Root of the Soul."That's what rose from within him.
Because writing is not just a symbol,but a root.And understanding is not just knowledge,but soul.
That afternoon, Li Yuan sat with his father on the weathered stone near the entrance.Li Haoming poured tea into simple cups.His face looked softer these days—not from age, but because something had reconnected.
"Root of the Soul?" his father asked, gently blowing on his tea.
Li Yuan nodded.
"This place… isn't just for reading," he said softly."But for remembering. For growing. Like roots."
Li Haoming was silent for a moment.Then chuckled quietly—not a loud laugh,but one that sounded like deep, fatherly agreement.
Children began arriving.They touched the library door with hesitation,as if holding something sacred.Some brought small stones,others only brought eyes full of light.
And as they entered,Li Yuan said nothing.He simply watchedlike a tree watching young shoots grow in soil that once lay barren.
That day, there was no celebration.But for that small village,and for one man walking the path of understanding—it was the day change took root.
That morning, the sun had not fully risen,yet already, a few people stood in front of the old building now named Root of the Soul.
Their hands were empty,but their steps were heavy with a feeling they hadn't named yet.
There was curiosity.There was hesitation.And between them, a quiet whisper:"Is this place for us too?"
Li Yuan opened the door as always.No announcement,just calmly,as if opening a window for a long-awaited breeze.
Some villagers only watched from afar.Others stepped inside, slowly,touching shelves filled with old manuscripts and small blackboards Mu Yi had arranged the night before.
They read titles they didn't recognize.Some letters felt foreign,but not frightening.
An old man whispered,"I can't read… but I want to listen."And Fan Tu sat beside him,reading slowly,like pouring water into cracked soil.
Mothers came with children.The children ran,touched books,laughed at things they didn't understand.
But no one laughed at ignorance.Because in this place,silence was as valuable as words.
A young woman, who once only wrote her name in the dirt with a dry twig,looked at the writing on the wall:"One letter is enough to begin."And she smiled.Like someone who finally sees a mirror and finds herself.
Li Yuan stood in the corner,saying nothing.
He didn't need to explain.
Because the library was already speaking—not with sound,but with presence.
That day, there were no lessons.No schedules.Yet everyone was learning.Learning the courage to come,the stillness to listen,and the humility to begin from emptiness.
Root of the Soul wasn't just a place to read.But a place to return.Return to curiosity,and to the awareness that understanding is not a privilege of the fewbut the right of every soul willing to sit and listen.
That day, there was no sound.Not from weariness,but from fullness.
The children sat cross-legged on the library floor, now covered with straw mats placed by the villagers.Li Yuan sat at the front,bringing no book,no chalk,only time.
Mu Yi leaned against the wall,Fan Tu prepared tea outside,and the wind entered slowly through the window, still without glass.
Li Yuan looked at them.They looked back.And in that gaze,something happened that no letter could ever explain.
A child wanted to ask a question,but his mouth stayed closed by a feeling.The feeling that maybe silence, too, could teach.
And it was truefor after fifty breaths,Li Yuan lifted a small stone,and placed it on the ground.
No explanation.No command.
But the children began picking up stones too.They didn't know why,but they felt they must.
One placed his stone at the front.Another behind.Some formed a circle.Some a line.
And they began to laugh.Not because it was funny,but because they felt they understood something—even if they didn't yet know what.
Li Yuan just observed.He didn't correct.Didn't approve.Because in silence, understanding takes shape on its own.
As dusk fell,someone asked,"Teacher… what did we learn today?"
Li Yuan answered,without words.He looked at the sky,and pointed to the shadow of a tree on the ground.
The child nodded.Didn't understand,but felt it was enough.
In the world of understanding,it's not explanation that teaches,but the willingness to listeneven if what you hear is only silence.