Time is a guest who never misses a visit.
It arrives without a sound, and leaves without farewell.
A year had passed.
The village of Ziran had changed.
But Li Yuan remained the same.
He was now thirty years old.
Yet his face bore no trace of time.
He looked like a man in his twenties—
black hair tied with a red cloth,
gray eyes holding depths that defied description.
His black robes appeared simple,
but if one looked long enough,
they would feel as if staring into a boundless sky.
That morning, the sunlight burned gently.
Golden light fell on the dirt roads of the village.
Li Yuan walked through it,
seeing the trees he had planted,
the children he had once taught,
and the new homes that had sprung like blooming memories.
He smiled at everyone he passed.
Yet none could hold back the bitterness in their hearts.
They knew—
Li Yuan was leaving.
And perhaps, he would never return.
Morning turned to noon,
and the village began to gather.
The news had spread without a word,
but everyone already knew:
Li Yuan would soon depart.
At the courtyard of the Root of Soul Library,
a place once empty was now filled with people.
Old, young, newcomers, and natives—
they stood in silence,
gazing at the man who had changed their lives
with stillness and understanding.
Li Yuan stood at the center.
His eyes swept across the faces—
no longer strangers,
but lives he had guided and protected
for a year, without asking anything in return.
Mu Yi stepped forward.
His hair was now tied neatly,
his demeanor calm like a stone honed by wind.
Fan Tu stood beside him,
no longer the impulsive boy he once was,
his eyes—once filled with emotion—
now carried depth.
"Will you come back?"
Mu Yi asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Li Yuan looked at him for a long while,
as though weighing thousands of words in a single breath.
"I don't know," he finally said.
"I want to understand the world.
That has always been my wish."
Mu Yi bowed his head slowly.
Fan Tu clenched his fists,
but said nothing.
He knew—
this was not a farewell that words could prevent.
Li Yuan looked to the children he once taught,
now some had grown into teens.
They stood in the front row,
carrying memories of their first breathing practice,
of innocent questions and confusion over empty books.
Their faces lowered.
Some bit their lips.
One of them, a short-haired girl named Jie'er,
cried in silence.
Her tears fell one by one,
like uninvited dew.
Li Yuan stepped toward them.
He raised his hand and placed it on Jie'er's head,
then gently touched each of them.
"Understanding is not meant to be held," he said softly.
"But opened, like a door.
I only showed you the key—
you are the ones who must unlock it."
No one answered.
But the silence was deeper than any scream.
Li Yuan stepped back,
gazing at all those who stood before him—
as if no more words could be spoken.
Mu Yi, once full of wisdom and speech,
lowered his head and only nodded.
There was sorrow in his eyes,
but also understanding.
"If this is your path," he said quietly,
"then we will wait for the day it brings you back."
Fan Tu, who had never been good at hiding emotions,
remained silent.
But in his eyes was the reflection of a long journey—
a journey they had walked together,
in quiet companionship and deep comprehension.
Li Yuan turned his gaze to the village,
to its growing people.
Once only a hundred souls—
now, three hundred.
And every one of them had become a part of his life,
though the word "attachment" was never once spoken.
"This world is so vast, so deep,"
he said, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
"I don't know if I'll return,
but I know this path is mine to follow."
For a moment, the wind brushed softly,
sweeping through his long black hair,
bringing a familiar calm—
like the silence between two worlds that never meet.
The villagers whispered,
some wiped their tears,
others bowed with hearts full of hope.
They knew—
this farewell would not be easy.
Not for Li Yuan,
not for them,
and not for the world they had shaped together.
Li Yuan looked once more at Mu Yi and Fan Tu—
their faces a part of the story he had lived.
And he knew,
even if their paths diverged,
each step would remain united
in unseen traces.
"Mu Yi,"
Li Yuan called his friend,
"remember—this path is not meant to be controlled.
Only understood.
Like flowing water,
like the wind, unseen."
Mu Yi raised his face.
"We will protect this village,
we will protect the understanding,"
he said with quiet conviction,
though loss gnawed at his heart.
Fan Tu stepped forward.
"Li Yuan, we cannot stop you.
But I hope you know—
your journey means everything to us."
Li Yuan smiled—
a smile full of peace.
"I know," he answered simply.
"Because you have walked this path with me."
With calm steps,
Li Yuan walked toward the village gate,
followed by the steady gaze of everyone behind him.
There were no final words,
only the silence that filled the space between them.
Time moved on.
And there, at the edge of the once-quiet village,
footsteps now left a heavier echo.
Li Yuan was gone—
but his presence remained etched in every corner of this place.
In every whisper of the wind,
in every soft echo of footsteps.
In the distance,
toward the unreachable horizon,
Li Yuan walked without turning back.
He did not know what lay ahead
but he knew:
this path was his to walk.
In deep silence, time passed.
And the world changed without a sound
like water flowing beneath a calm surface.
In a village once filled only with stillness,
there now lingered an unspoken echo
an echo of understanding
that flowed through every soul he had once touched.
Li Yuan was gone,
but within himself, he knew:
his search was not to find a destination,
but to understand the journey.
And the village of Ziran,
like water flowing gently,
would continue to grow,
seeking deeper understanding,
like the unending steps of Li Yuan.
Before leaving Ziran for good,
Li Yuan stood still beneath a great tree
towering calmly at the village's western edge.
The tree never changed
its trunk sturdy, branches open to the sky,
leaves always falling gently,
as if honoring time itself.
It was there he once dug the earth with his own hands.
There, his father, Li Haoming, rested in peace.
The evening breeze rustled the leaves,
its sound like murmured memories.
Li Yuan closed his eyes.
There were no tears.
No lamentations.
Only a deep breath that flowed from chest to earth.
He bowed down, touched the quiet soil, and whispered,
"Father, I will take my step.
The vast world calls me, just as you once said
that roots don't always stay in soil,
sometimes they wander seeking meaning,
and remain roots, even far away."
He paused, feeling every grain of soil beneath his fingertips
as if hearing his father's voice once more.
Not with his ears,
but with his heart.
"I bring no power, only understanding.
No legacy, only feeling.
I do not know where my feet will take me,
but I know what I carry with me."
Li Yuan stood again,
gazing at the reddening sky.
The same sky as when he was born.
The same as when his father passed.
And it would remain the same as he walked away.
With one step,
he left the tree behind.
But his trace would remain
not in the earth,
but in memory.
Behind him,
the tree stood in silence.
Without words.
Yet full of meaning.