One Moment of Humanity at a Time
By late afternoon, Li Yuan met someone different from the other refugees.
A man in his forties, neatly dressed though travel-worn, sat alone beneath a small tent, staring at a sheet of paper with an expression that was hard to read.
Li Yuan recognized that look—the look of someone carrying a heavy responsibility.
"May I sit?" Li Yuan asked.
The man glanced at him, then nodded. "Go ahead. My name's Chen Lu. I… was the headman of Qingshan Village. Or former headman, I suppose."
Li Yuan sat beside him. "Li Yuan. From the north."
"The north?" Chen Lu's eyes sharpened. "From Qin?"
"Yes. But not a soldier or a spy."
Chen Lu gave a bitter laugh. "Right now, it hardly matters. Anyone from the north is a potential threat."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Li Yuan could feel the weight Chen Lu carried—not just physical exhaustion, but the emotional burden of a leader who had brought hundreds into exile, unsure if the decision was right.
"Is your village far?" Li Yuan asked.
"Three days south. Or… three days to where my village used to be." Chen Lu folded the paper in his hands. "Yesterday, scouts brought word. The village is empty. Lu's soldiers took all the food for the war effort, then ordered everyone to evacuate."
"Lu's soldiers themselves?"
"Yes. They said border villages will become battlefields. Better to be empty than serve as cover for the enemy." Chen Lu's gaze swept over the crowd of refugees. "But they didn't say where we should go. Or how to live after this."
Li Yuan understood his frustration. Decisions made easily by military leaders became heavy burdens borne by ordinary people.
"You don't blame the soldiers?"
Chen Lu shook his head. "They're human too. They're afraid too. They also don't know what will happen tomorrow." He looked at Li Yuan. "What I blame is… this situation. A war that hasn't started, but has already ruined everything."
Li Yuan nodded. "Like a storm that hasn't arrived, but whose winds have already toppled the trees."
"Exactly." Chen Lu regarded him with a different kind of gaze now. "You speak like someone who's seen much."
"Chen Lu," Li Yuan said after another stretch of easy silence, "may I ask what you worry about most right now?"
Chen Lu was quiet for a long time. "The children," he said at last. "We have thirty under ten years old. They don't understand why they had to leave. They keep asking when we can go home. And I… I don't know what to tell them."
His voice trembled slightly. "I've been headman for fifteen years. I thought I knew how to protect my people. But there are things you can't protect with the usual means."
Li Yuan heard the pain in his voice—the pain of a father to many, feeling he'd failed his children.
"Chen Lu," Li Yuan said softly, "may I meet the children?"
Chen Lu gave him a cautious look. "For what?"
"For nothing. Just… to sit with them. Sometimes, children only need to know there's an adult who isn't panicking."
"You won't say anything to frighten them?"
"No. I'll just… be there."
After a moment's hesitation, Chen Lu nodded. "Fine. But I'll be with you."
The children of Qingshan Village were gathered in a corner of a large tent set aside for them.
Some played with simple toys. Some sat clutching dolls. Others stared into the distance, unfocused. All bore signs of stress—restless movements, vacant eyes, poor sleep.
Li Yuan sat among them without saying a word.
It didn't take long before they began to take interest in him—perhaps because he was a new face, perhaps because something in his presence made them feel safe.
A boy came closer. "Who are you, Uncle?"
"Li Yuan. Where are you from?"
"Qingshan. But it's gone now." His tone was too old for his age.
Li Yuan spent the rest of the afternoon with the children.
He didn't tell stories, didn't play games, didn't organize any activities.
He just sat, answering their questions gently and honestly, listening to their tales of the homes they'd left, the toys they'd lost, the gardens they wouldn't see again for a long time.
Gradually, they calmed.
The restless sat still.
The vacant-eyed found focus in simple play.
Those who struggled to sleep began to grow comfortably drowsy.
From the edge of the tent, Chen Lu watched in astonishment.
"How did you do that?" he asked when Li Yuan stepped outside.
"I didn't do anything," Li Yuan answered honestly. "Just… listened. Children don't need answers to all their questions. They just need to know their questions matter."
That night, Li Yuan stayed in a small tent Chen Lu had provided.
Before sleeping, he sat outside, looking over the crowded refugee city of Nanping.
Thousands of small lights flickered in makeshift shelters.
Low voices carried through the night air.
Sometimes a baby cried, or a child's muffled laughter rose from somewhere close.
Li Yuan felt the complexity of it all—so much suffering, yet so much strength.
So much fear, yet so much hope.
So much loss, yet so much togetherness born from crisis.
Humans are extraordinary, he reflected. In the worst times, they still find ways to look after one another.
The next morning, as Li Yuan prepared to leave, Chen Lu approached.
"Li Yuan," he said, "thank you for yesterday. The children slept better than usual."
"They're strong children."
"Yes. Stronger than I thought." Chen Lu hesitated. "Where will you go after this?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe to a larger city. Maybe back to the small villages. Wherever I'm needed."
Chen Lu nodded. "If… someday things improve, and we can build a new village, you should come. We'd be glad to have someone like you among us."
Li Yuan smiled. "Thank you. But I'm sure you'll be fine without me. You already have the most important thing."
"What's that?"
"Each other."
Li Yuan left Nanping as the sun rose.
The city was still crowded with refugees, still full of uncertainty, still facing an unclear future.
But something in its atmosphere had shifted—slightly calmer, slightly more orderly, slightly more… human.
He didn't know if the change would last.
Didn't know if the calm he left behind would be strong enough to withstand what lay ahead.
But he knew one thing: the seeds of kindness had been planted.
And they would grow on their own, in their own way, in their own time.
Water had flowed to where it was needed.
Now it was time to find the next place in need.
In the distance, smoke rose from a larger city.
Perhaps the situation there would be more complex, the challenges greater.
But Li Yuan did not feel burdened by the thought.
He walked with steady steps, an open heart, and the understandings in his Ganjing ready to offer what they could.
One city at a time.
One heart at a time.
One moment of humanity at a time.
The world might be preparing for war.
But wherever Li Yuan walked, peace would always have a chance to grow.