Morning arrived without fanfare.
The first light crept gently through the cracks in the roof, touching the wooden floor faintly cracked by time. There were no roosters crowing. No drums to awaken the city. Only the whisper of dew falling onto leaves, and the breath of a city beginning to stir from its long sleep.
Li Yuan opened his eyes.
He had not slept. He had simply closed the outer world so he could hear the deepest echoes within. And now, he stood. His movements were slow, almost soundless.
From the small window in his room, he saw the back street gradually coming to life: a young man watering flowers with careful precision, a little girl sweeping leaves with a straw broom nearly worn bare, and an old dog barking once—then sitting down again, as if too tired to remain alert.
Li Yuan went downstairs.
Meilang was already there. His hair tied high, eyes still holding remnants of the night, but his hands moved deftly, preparing a kettle of hot water and slices of boiled yam.
"I've made a light breakfast," he said without turning around. "You'll need strength. Morning in Qinlu isn't just the city waking up—it stretches."
Li Yuan accepted a small bowl.
He ate slowly, like someone giving his tongue time to understand the texture of the world.
After the meal, Meilang looked at him.
"Where will you go today?"
Li Yuan didn't answer right away. He gazed outside, at the street now full of people walking.
"I want to see… into the city. Not just its buildings, but… what it holds."
Meilang nodded, then handed him a small pouch of rough cloth.
"A little provision. Some coins and dry cakes. And this," he said, slipping something into the pocket of Li Yuan's robe, "a name. If you need to know something... look for this person."
Li Yuan accepted it without asking further.
Then he stepped out of the teahouse.
The morning air bit gently, carrying the scent of charcoal and simmering ginger. Qinlu had begun to make sound—not like shouting, but the hum of a thousand footsteps that never ceased.
And among them, Li Yuan walked—not to find something, but to allow something to find him.
Morning cloaked Qinlu with thin dew and pale light reflected off stone streets. The air still shivered, carrying the scent of the wet market and firewood burning in small kitchen stoves hidden behind alleyways.
Li Yuan walked slowly, letting his body absorb the rhythm of a city newly awake. He moved through narrow alleys between moss-covered brick walls, passing the shuffle of hurried feet, brooms scraping dust, and wooden doors half-opened like eyes still unsure of the day.
The morning market had come alive.
A porridge vendor stood by his stove, stirring slowly and occasionally blowing steam from his own bowl. An old woman arranged baskets of fresh bamboo shoots. Children ran about, shouting while dragging strings tied to bits of bamboo. Simple. Real.
Yet to Li Yuan, it was more than motion.
He saw the direction of glances. The space between hands. The way people gave and received without many words. Even silence had meaning.
Ganjing within him made no echo, but remained clear—like a calm lake that flows beneath the surface, undisturbed.
Suddenly, an old man called from the side of the market.
"Young man!" His voice was hoarse, but friendly. "You're new here, aren't you?"
Li Yuan approached and bowed respectfully. "I arrived yesterday."
"I knew it," said the man, nodding thoughtfully. "Your steps are unlike those of this city. You walk slowly... as if listening to something unheard."
Li Yuan only smiled.
"Do you know where you'll be staying?"
"No. Perhaps just a short while. Perhaps longer. I haven't decided."
The old man pointed eastward, to a place beyond the bustle.
"There's an empty building over there. Used to be for people who liked to write and draw. Not many go there now. But it's quiet. Suitable for someone like you."
Li Yuan turned toward the direction he indicated.
"Thank you. I'll go."
The old man looked at him briefly, then said quietly, "You observe with unusual eyes. But be careful, young man. Qinlu holds voices not always kind to silence."
Li Yuan nodded slowly.
Then he walked away—unhurried.
The sky was beginning to warm. The city still held itself within its own quiet. And Li Yuan—he wasn't seeking shelter. He was seeking a place to listen.
His steps left the market behind, moving through alleys now shedding their shadows. He followed the direction the old man had given, walking the slowly rising stone paths that led away from the city center and into an older, quieter, more forgotten part of Qinlu.
There, ancient trees grew wild, their roots breaking through cracks in walls and stone. Tall grass swayed gently, as if greeting him. The building the man had spoken of wasn't grand. Just a structure with dull-tiled roofing and walls of crumbling brick. Yet the air around it felt cleaner, lighter, as though breath could stretch further without resistance.
Its wooden door stood half-open. No lock. No sound. Only silence that had long lived there.
Li Yuan stepped inside.
The room was empty, save for old wooden tables coated in dust and several thin boards hanging crooked on the walls. Morning light filtered through the gaps in the roof, casting bright lines across the floor.
He sat down without cleaning anything.
And let the place speak.
He heard a soft crack in the wall.
He saw remnants of life long past—scratches on the floor, dry ink stains on table surfaces, faded markings no longer legible.
It wasn't the words that drew his attention, but the intention behind them.
Someone had once tried to understand something here. Perhaps through drawing. Perhaps through lines. But not through power. That much was clear.
And for Li Yuan, that was enough.
He closed his eyes.
And listened.
And for the first time since arriving in Qinlu, he felt that the city did not reject him. Nor did it welcome him. But it allowed him to be.
In that silence, he let his Ganjing breathe. Slowly. Wrapped. Neither radiating nor absorbing.
Like water kept in a clay bowl—not for drinking, but to preserve the freshness of the air around it.