Li Yuan smelled the border zone before he saw it—the scent of metal, sweat, and something darker.
The scent of fear, thick in the air like a morning fog that refused to lift.
Two days after meeting Wang Tao and his friends, Li Yuan reached the territory that would become a battlefield within days.
This was no longer the abandoned villages or empty roads he had seen before.
This was… no man's land.
Land claimed by neither Qin nor Lu. Land waiting to be soaked in blood.
The landscape here was unlike anywhere Li Yuan had walked before.
Massive trees had fallen—not snapped by wind or uprooted by storms, but… destroyed, as if struck by an unimaginable force.
Huge boulders lay split cleanly, their surfaces smooth, as though cut by a giant's blade.
In some places, the earth was scorched black, though there were no signs of fire.
Training grounds, Li Yuan realized, a chill running through him.
The commanders from both sides have been here already—preparing the field.
Li Yuan moved with greater care now—not out of fear, but out of respect.
Respect for ground that would soon be the grave of thousands.
By midday, he heard the first sound of another human in this zone.
Not the clang of soldiers training or the bark of orders.
It was the muffled sobbing of someone trying, and failing, to cry in silence.
Following the sound, he found the source behind the rubble of a shattered boulder.
A man in his forties sat cradling a lifeless body—a young man, perhaps his son, perhaps his brother.
Their clothes were ragged, nothing like the uniforms of either army.
A scout, Li Yuan thought. Or a spy. Caught before he could report back.
He approached slowly, careful not to startle the grieving man.
"Excuse me," Li Yuan said softly.
The man flinched, instantly alert, his hand going to his waist for a weapon that wasn't there.
His eyes were red from crying, yet still sharp with wariness.
"Who are you?"
"Li Yuan. I mean you no harm."
The man studied him from head to toe, weighing the threat. After a long moment, his posture eased slightly, though his guard did not drop.
"I'm Lao Chen," he said. "And this…" he looked at the body in his arms, "this is my son, Chen Ming."
Li Yuan sat on the ground a few paces away, showing he had no intent to attack or intimidate.
"What happened to him?"
Lao Chen gazed at his son's pale face. "We're not soldiers. We were just… trying to find our way home."
"Home where?"
"A small village near the border. We were separated from the rest of our family two weeks ago during the chaos of evacuation. Ming insisted we try to return, even though everyone said this area wasn't safe."
He wiped at fresh tears. "Yesterday, we met a group of men… I don't know from which side. They said we were spies. We explained again and again that we were just civilians trying to go home. They didn't believe us."
A cold anger coiled in Li Yuan's chest—not the hot rage that burned quickly, but the kind of ice-cold fury reserved for a world where innocent civilians were crushed under suspicion and violence.
"They killed Ming in front of me," Lao Chen said, his voice trembling. "Not with a sword. Not with arrows. With… unnatural force."
"High-level martial arts."
"Yes. One of them touched Ming's chest. Just touched him. But after that…" Lao Chen's voice broke.
Li Yuan studied the body more closely. No external wounds. No blood. But there was something in the frozen expression—fear and confusion etched into his features, as if he had died without ever understanding what had happened.
An internal strike, Li Yuan recognized.
The kind that destroys the organs without marring the skin. More cruel than a blade, because the victim stays conscious for minutes before death.
"Why didn't they kill you as well?" Li Yuan asked.
"They said I should live to tell others what happens to spies who are caught." Lao Chen gave a bitter laugh. "We weren't spies. We were just a father and son trying to go home."
He looked up, eyes hollow. "Now I have no home left. My wife died last year from illness. Ming was all I had."
Li Yuan felt the heaviness in his chest deepen.
This was the real face of war—not the heroic clash of heroes and villains, but the killing of innocents who only wanted a quiet life.
"Lao Chen," Li Yuan said gently, "may I help you bury Ming?"
The man's eyes widened. "You… would help? Why?"
"Because everyone deserves a proper burial. And no father should have to bury his child alone."
Tears welled again in Lao Chen's eyes, but this time there was something else behind them—gratitude.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
They buried Chen Ming beneath the only intact willow tree in the area—the lone survivor untouched by the training of martial commanders.
Li Yuan dug with his bare hands. Lao Chen spoke little, but now and then he shared stories—how Ming had been diligent, always ready to help neighbors, dreaming of becoming a teacher for the village children someday.
"He never harmed anyone," Lao Chen said as they covered the grave. "He wouldn't even swat a fly. He said every creature had the right to live."
Li Yuan felt the cruel irony cut deep. Ming, who wouldn't kill a fly, had been slain by a man who could kill hundreds without blinking.
When it was done, they sat beside the small grave.
"Lao Chen," Li Yuan asked, "where will you go now?"
"I don't know. I have no home to return to." He stared at the mound of earth. "Maybe I'll stay here. Guard Ming's grave until the war is over."
"That's dangerous. In a few days, this will be a battlefield."
"I no longer care about danger." Lao Chen met Li Yuan's gaze, his eyes empty of fear. "I have nothing left to lose."
Li Yuan understood. Despair had its own kind of freedom—when nothing remained to take, fear itself vanished.
"Lao Chen, may I ask you for something?"
"What?"
"Don't stay here to guard Ming's grave."
Anger flickered in the man's eyes. "Why? You want me to abandon my son?"
"No. I want you to honor him in a better way."
"What do you mean?"
Li Yuan looked at the grave, then back to him.
"You said Ming liked helping neighbors. That he dreamed of teaching. That he wouldn't harm a living thing."
"Yes."
"Then the best way to remember him is not to die here, but to live as he lived—helping others, teaching children with no teacher, protecting the weak."
Lao Chen was silent for a long time, absorbing the words.
"But how could I do that? I'm just a farmer. I have no skills."
"You have something more valuable than skill."
"What?"
"You understand what it is to lose everything. And those who understand loss are the best at helping others who have lost."
Li Yuan rose and helped the man to his feet.
"In the coming weeks, there will be many like you—people who've lost children, spouses, parents, homes. They'll need someone who understands their pain. Someone who can sit with them without filling the air with empty comfort."
"You want me to be… a comforter?"
"I want you to be another Ming—a Ming who lives to help, not a Ming who dies from another's hatred."
Lao Chen looked at the grave one last time, then at Li Yuan.
"Where should I go?"
"North. Find Wang Tao—a young man helping others escape the madness of this war. Tell him Li Yuan sent you."
"Wang Tao?"
"He and his friends will know what to do. They need a steady, wise presence like yours to guide those they save."
Lao Chen nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll try."
He knelt at the grave once more, placing his hand on the fresh earth.
"Ming," he whispered, "I'll live as you would have wanted. I'll help others, as you always did. And someday, when the world is peaceful, I'll tell the children about the good son I once had."
Something warm stirred in Li Yuan's chest at the transformation—from a father with nothing left to a man with a new purpose.
They parted as the sun dipped westward.
Lao Chen walked north, his steps still heavy but no longer aimless.
Li Yuan turned south, deeper into the soon-to-be battlefield.
Before vanishing from sight, Lao Chen looked back and shouted, "Li Yuan! Thank you for reminding me life still has meaning!"
Li Yuan waved, though his heart was heavy. One family saved—how many more would shatter in the coming days?
That afternoon, the sounds of war grew clearer.
The clash of metal—blades being sharpened or tested.
The bark of harsh commands.
The occasional muffled explosion—likely from martial arts training.
Li Yuan moved more cautiously. Soon, he would meet the "elephants" Wang Tao had spoken of—men who could kill like Chen Ming had been killed, with a touch, without a reason.
But he also knew that among those "elephants" would be plenty of "grass"—ordinary soldiers like Wang Tao, forced into place by circumstance, destined to suffer most when giants clashed.
That night, Li Yuan sheltered in a small cave hidden among rocks.
Before sleep, he entered his Zhenjing—not for long meditation, but to check the readiness of the nine understandings within his Ganjing.
Water—ready to flow where most needed.
Stillness—ready to grant peace amid chaos.
Emptiness—ready to accept all without judgment.
Fear—ready to face and transform it.
Enclosure—ready to shield the weak from the strong.
Doubt—ready to hold back hasty action.
Breath—ready to spread calm.
Sky—ready to offer a wider view.
Body—ready to heal the wounded.
All were ready. All in the deepest harmony yet.
Li Yuan opened his eyes and looked south, toward the glow of campfires from both sides.
Tomorrow, he would enter a place where war was no longer a looming threat, but a living reality.
Where people like Chen Ming would die—not because they were evil or dangerous, but because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He closed his eyes—not to sleep, but to pray.
Not to gods or spirits, but to something deeper: to the possibility that even amid destruction, there could still be space for humanity.
That there would still be places where water could flow clear, even when running through bloodied ground.
Tomorrow would bring the true test.
A test of whether the nine understandings of the Ganjing were strong enough to face the power that had killed Chen Ming with a single touch.
A test of whether a healing presence still mattered when surrounded by forces that destroyed.
A test of whether Li Yuan could be like the willow tree over Ming's grave—still standing amid ruin, offering shade to those in need.
Water flows to where it is most needed.
And tomorrow, Li Yuan would learn if he could still flow when the world tried to stop him with unimaginable force—
or if he would become like Chen Ming, another casualty of a hatred he never chose, in a war he never started.
But tonight, in a small cave in no man's land, Li Yuan slept in peace.
For he knew that whatever tomorrow brought, he had already chosen the right path—
a path that might end in death, but would never end in regret.