Li Yuan woke up with a smile on his face.
The dream he had last night was simple—he dreamt he was helping his father fix the roof of their house. There was no cosmic revelation or spiritual vision. Just a warm memory of his father's hand teaching him how to hold a hammer correctly.
"Good morning," he said to a squirrel gathering nuts nearby.
The squirrel glanced at him, then continued its activity with a funny concentration—as if gathering nuts was the most important mission in the world.
Maybe it was, for that squirrel.
Li Yuan got up and stretched his consciousness body. His nonexistent muscles felt stiff, as if he had truly slept on hard ground. His Understanding of Body was becoming more and more skilled at imitating human sensations.
Or perhaps he was remembering what it felt like to be human.
That morning, Li Yuan decided not to rush. Instead of walking with a clear destination, he walked like someone taking a morning stroll. He observed how the sunlight played among the leaves. He listened to the birds chirping without searching for a philosophical meaning in it.
He was just enjoying it.
By the roadside, he saw an old woman picking wild flowers. The small basket in her hand was already half full of yellow and white flowers.
"Good morning, Grandma," Li Yuan greeted.
The old woman turned and smiled. Her face was wrinkled but her eyes sparkled. "Good morning, young man. A beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Very beautiful." Li Yuan stopped beside her. "What are the flowers for, Grandma?"
"For my husband's grave," the old woman answered, continuing to pick. "Today marks fifty years since he passed away. Every year I come to his grave with the flowers he liked."
Li Yuan felt his Understanding of Loss tremble gently. But this time, not with deep sadness or cosmic wisdom. Just... simple human empathy for another human.
"He must have loved you very much," Li Yuan said softly.
"Oh yes, very much." The old woman laughed lightly. "But I loved him more. Every day I would tell him, 'You're lucky to have a wife as good as me!' And he would always laugh."
Li Yuan laughed with her. "Do you still miss him, Grandma?"
"Of course. But it's not a painful longing anymore. It's more like... a warm longing. Like missing the sun when a cloud passes. Knowing that its warmth is still there, just temporarily hidden."
The old woman stood up and brushed off her hands. "Want to come along? His grave isn't far. Sometimes it's nicer to have someone to chat with."
Li Yuan was surprised by the invitation. But something inside him—not his Understanding of Loss or any other spiritual wisdom, just a human instinct—said yes.
"I'd like that. I'm Li... Li Qingshan."
"A good name. I'm Bi Cuihua. Come on."
They walked together in a conversation that flowed naturally. Grandma Cuihua told him about her husband, who used to be a carpenter, about her children who had their own families, about her grandchildren who sometimes visited.
Ordinary stories. Ordinary lives. But Li Yuan listened with full attention, not as a sage looking for a lesson, but as a new friend interested in someone's life story.
The grave was simple—just a tombstone with a name and a date. But Grandma Cuihua arranged the flowers with a affection that felt very real.
"Hi, Lao Zhang," she spoke to the tombstone as if her husband was still there. "I brought a new friend. His name is Qingshan. He's handsome, isn't he? But don't worry, I'm still faithful to you."
Li Yuan smiled at the joke. There was something very moving about the way this old woman talked to her deceased husband—not dramatic or formal, but natural and full of love.
"Sit, young man," Grandma Cuihua patted the grass next to her. "I usually chat with him for a bit."
Li Yuan sat and listened to Grandma Cuihua telling her husband about the past week. About the neighbor whose cat gave birth. About a grandchild who just learned to walk. About the rising price of rice.
Small things. Everyday things.
But in that simplicity, Li Yuan saw something beautiful: a love that never stopped, even after death. Not a dramatic or epic love, but a love that was manifested in small daily fidelities.
Coming with flowers. Telling stories about ordinary days. Remembering with joy, not just sadness.
"Young man Qingshan," Grandma Cuihua suddenly asked, "do you have someone you love?"
Li Yuan was silent for a moment. How could he answer that question? He had once loved his father, his mother, his friends. But that was centuries ago.
"I used to," he answered honestly. "But it's been a very long time."
"Ah, they have passed away?"
"Yes."
"Do you still remember them?"
"Every day."
Grandma Cuihua nodded with understanding. "Then they haven't truly left. As long as someone remembers them with love, they are still alive here." She pointed to her chest.
Li Yuan felt something tremble in his Zhenjing. Not the Understanding of Loss he already had, but something new. Something about... continuity. About how love can transcend death not through great spiritual power, but through small daily fidelities.
About how remembering can be the simplest and most eternal form of love.
"Thank you, Grandma," Li Yuan said softly.
"You're welcome, young man. Sometimes all we need is someone to chat with."
When they parted ways, Li Yuan felt something warm in his chest. Not a thundering spiritual enlightenment, but... satisfaction. The satisfaction of spending a morning sharing simplicity with someone.
That afternoon, as he rested under another tree, Li Yuan felt a subtle shift in his Zhenjing.
A new understanding was forming.
The Understanding of Memories.
Unlike the Understanding of Loss, which focused on the pain of letting go, this understanding was about the warmth of remembering. About how to love those who have passed without being trapped in sadness.
About how the past can be a friend, not a burden.
Li Yuan smiled. In his three hundred and ten years of life, he had finally learned that sometimes the deepest understanding comes not from a great cosmic search, but from a morning spent with an old woman picking flowers for a husband who passed away fifty years ago.
The 14th understanding: Memories.
And for the first time, Li Yuan felt that he was not in a hurry to find the 15th understanding.
Maybe for a while, fourteen was enough.
Maybe for a while, being human was enough.
Author's Note: "Li Qingshan" (李青山) = "Clear Mountain" - a name that fits the spiritual persona. This is a pseudonym that Li Yuan used. "Li Qingshan" is the persona he created for a new phase in his journey.