The library was silent.Only the soft scratch of a pen against paper could be heard. Before shelves now brimming with new books, Li Yuan sat still, staring at a blank sheet untouched.
Outside, the sky remained gray. A light rain had left dew clinging to the bamboo window.
Li Yuan looked out.
"Two more years," he thought. "I will walk again."
His hand brushed over the cover of a book on the table an untitled book filled with notes about children, loss, and growth.
"These books will be finished in two years," he murmured. "And they... these children... will be ready to take their own steps."
He let out a soft breath.
"But this village... it will change. Many will come. The world will discover this place."
And he knew—what the world discovers, it brings with it both light... and shadow.
That day, he walked through the village, past children practicing morning breathing exercises in the courtyard. They bowed to him, then returned to their focus.
He gave a faint smile and made his way to the old house at the edge of the village—home to Mu Yi and Fan Tu, who lived there with several older students.
A gentle knock.
The door opened.
Mu Yi greeted him with a calm smile. Inside, Fan Tu was arranging training tools.
"Yuan," said Mu Yi, gesturing for him to sit. "You're early."
Li Yuan sat down. No small talk.
"I'm going to walk again," he said quietly.
Fan Tu turned. "Walk?"
"Yes," Li Yuan replied. "In about two years. After all the books are finished, and the children are ready."
Fan Tu sat across from him, eyes focused.
"You're leaving the village again?" he asked.
Li Yuan nodded. "Not to abandon it. But to continue."
Mu Yi looked out the window.
"Where will you go?"
Li Yuan didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes for a moment, then said,"I don't know yet. But I feel… I must. This village will grow. Many from outside will come. And that… could be a beginning, or an end."
Fan Tu sighed. "You have a premonition."
Li Yuan looked at them both. "That's why I came. I want your help... to teach them martial arts. Not for fighting. But to stand tall. To understand the body, the way they understand breath... and the world within."
Mu Yi smiled faintly. "It's time. We're not young anymore. But our bones haven't failed us yet."
Fan Tu nodded. "And we still have things to teach. We've seen battlefields. And we learned… that survival isn't just strength—it's understanding."
Li Yuan met their eyes. "Then let's begin. Slowly. Like all things that grow right."
The days began to shift.
Mu Yi started bringing a wooden staff to morning classes.Fan Tu taught balance through breath and motion.
And the children began to understand that martial arts wasn't about strength—but about one's attitude toward life—how to stand, how to fall, and how to rise again.
Li Yuan returned to the library and wrote it all down.
And in his silence, he knew:
His journey wasn't over.
The world was still wide.
And understanding... had yet to reach its roots.
That morning, the mist descended slowly—like the earth holding its breath.
In the library's front courtyard, a group of students sat cross-legged in a circle. The ground was still cold, the leaves damp with last night's dew.
Li Yuan stood in the middle of them.
His eyes scanned each face—eyes beginning to clear, but not yet deep. Young faces learning stillness, but not yet understanding silence.
He asked gently,"What can a master martial artist do?"
Some exchanged glances.
Then a boy, hesitant but honest, answered,"Kill people?"
The wind paused.
Li Yuan looked at him. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just... silent.
Then he asked,"And what happens if you kill too?"
No one replied.
The children lowered their heads.
Li Yuan's voice came again—soft, but clear."Maturity is not about the ability to kill. It's about what you do once you can."
He walked to the center of the yard and picked up a fallen leaf.
"Power can destroy. But that is not its peak."
He looked toward the sky. The mist began to lift.
"A master martial artist," he said softly, "can shatter a tree into dust. Without touching it. Only with breath... and movement."
The children sat in silence.
"Not because they want to. But because they understand. Their movements are not violence, but continuity. Their breath, not an explosion—but resonance."
He placed the leaf back on the ground.
"The pinnacle of martial arts is not about killing. It's about recognizing the boundary between life and death... and still choosing not to cross it."
He looked at the students.
"You… are planting roots. Don't rush to become the wind."
The sky began to clear. But the wind remained cold.
And the students… sat a little straighter than before.
They didn't understand everything.
But that day, they were silent.
And in that silence, something grew.