The sound of gongs from the town center woke Li Yuan from his peaceful sleep. Not an earsplitting clang, but a deep, rhythmic chime, like the joyful heartbeat of the earth. Through his small bedroom window, he saw the sky, still a pre-dawn gray, adorned with thin smoke rising from various places—a sign that all of Hexin had woken up earlier than usual.
It was the Day of the New Season Festival.
Li Yuan had heard about the preparations for this festival over the past week from conversations in the market and at the Word House. Mr. Shen had told him that this tradition had been going on since Hexin was founded—a simple way to thank the heavens and the earth for the peaceful end of winter, and to ask for blessings for the coming season.
"Nothing special," Mr. Shen had said with a laugh, "just eating together, a little dancing, and a lot of stories. But precisely because it's not special, that's what makes this festival special."
Li Yuan dressed in a simple light blue hanfu he had bought last week—not because he wanted to look good, but because Lin Sao insisted that "a festival should be celebrated with proper clothes to honor the coming season."
When he left his house, Harmony Alley was already buzzing with activity. Chen Wei was busy carrying wooden benches into the street, while Lin Sao and several other women were arranging brightly colored fabrics between the trees to create a festive shade.
"Qingshan xiong!" Chen Wei waved. "Come help! We have to set everything up before the sun gets too high."
Li Yuan joined his neighbors, helping to lift long wooden tables and arrange benches in a circular formation in the middle of the street, which had been closed to traffic. There was something heartwarming about working together like this—no one was in charge, no one was ordered around, everyone moved in harmony like water flowing to where it was needed.
"This is for the elders to tell stories later," Mrs. Zhou explained, pointing to the benches arranged facing a small platform. "And this is for the young people to dance."
Li Yuan observed the designated area—an open circle surrounded by red and gold paper lanterns. It was simple, but there was something sacred in its simplicity.
Towards midday, when the sun was high enough to warm the air but not yet too hot, the residents of Hexin began to gather. Li Yuan was surprised to see how many people there were—not just from Harmony Alley, but from all over the town. It seemed almost every family participated, from babies in arms to grandparents walking with the help of canes.
Each family brought something: plates of homemade food, jugs of tea and water, simple musical instruments, or just a mat to sit on together. Nothing was extravagant, everything was handmade, but that's what made it feel so sincere.
"Qingshan xiong, what did you bring?" Lin Sao asked, balancing three plates in her hands.
Li Yuan held up a small basket of green bean cakes he had made early that morning. "It's not much, Lin Sao. Just simple cakes."
"Homemade cakes are always the best," Lin Sao smiled. "Look, everyone brought homemade food. No one buys from outside. That's the tradition—festival food must be made with one's own hands and a joyful heart."
Li Yuan felt a strange warmth in his chest. Unknowingly, he had followed a tradition he didn't even know existed.
The festival began with a simple ritual. Zhou Popo, as the oldest elder in Hexin, stood in the middle of the circle, raising both her hands to the sky.
"Heaven and earth who give life," her voice was clear but not loud, "we thank you for a peaceful winter. We thank you for enough food, for warm homes, for healthy families."
Everyone stood in silence, not in a stiff or formal manner, but in a sincere peace. Li Yuan felt a subtle vibration from his Zhenjing—not because of some great spiritual power, but because there was something beautiful about hundreds of hearts giving thanks in unison.
"And now," Zhou Popo continued with a smile, "let's celebrate!"
The sound of gongs chimed again, this time more cheerful, and the festival began.
Li Yuan never expected that he would enjoy a festival this much. Not because there was anything spectacular, but precisely because everything was so... human.
He sat with other families on mats spread on the ground, sharing food and stories. His homemade green bean cakes were gone in a flash, and he tasted dozens of other homemade foods—vegetable spring rolls made by Mrs. Chen, yellow chicken soup made by the Zhao family, sweet and chewy pandan klepon cakes made by Mrs. Wang.
"Qingshan xiong," Mr. Zhang, a farmer he had just met today, said, offering him warm tea, "did you make those cakes yourself? They were delicious!"
"Thank you, Zhang xiong. Just a simple recipe."
"A simple recipe made with a happy heart," Mr. Zhang laughed. "That's the secret."
In these small conversations, Li Yuan learned a lot about life in Hexin. About Mr. Li whose grandson just started to walk. About Mrs. Ma whose garden produced the biggest tomatoes ever this year. About the young man Wang who finally dared to propose to the girl he liked.
Small stories that made life feel colorful.
As the sun began to set, the dancing part began. It wasn't a complex or formal dance, but a simple folk dance—movements that anyone could learn, which emphasized joy over skill.
"Come on, everyone join the dance!" a young man shouted, pulling people's hands to join the circle.
Li Yuan was hesitant at first, but Lin Sao and Chen Wei pulled his hands from both sides. "Don't be shy! This festival is for everyone!"
In a circle of dozens of people of all ages, Li Yuan found himself swaying to the rhythm of the simple drums and flutes. His movements were awkward at first—after all, he had not danced in three hundred and ten years of his life—but there was something contagious about the joy around him.
No one cared if his movements were wrong. No one judged or criticized. Everyone just laughed and moved together, like water flowing in one great river.
And for the first time in centuries, Li Yuan laughed freely. Not a wise smile or a laugh full of philosophical meaning, but a pure and innocent laugh, the laugh of someone who was enjoying the moment without thinking about anything else.
Night began to fall, and the paper lanterns were lit one by one, creating a warm glow that danced on tired but happy faces. The festival entered its final part: storytelling time.
Zhou Popo and several other elders sat on the small platform, telling old stories about the history of Hexin, about the ancestors who built this town, about the difficult seasons they had overcome with mutual cooperation.
Li Yuan listened with full attention, not because the stories were new to him—he had lived long enough to witness the same patterns in other places—but because there was something touching about the way the stories were told. With love. With pride. With gratitude for those who had passed and hope for those who were to come.
"And that's why," Zhou Popo concluded her story, "we celebrate this festival every year. Not to remind ourselves of the greatness of the past, but to celebrate the life we are living now."
A warm round of applause echoed in the night, and the festival slowly came to an end. People began to pack up their things, helping each other carry leftover food and belongings home, still in a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
Li Yuan walked home with Chen Wei and Lin Sao, his heart full of a feeling he couldn't describe with words. It wasn't a spiritual enlightenment or a deep cosmic understanding, but something simpler yet just as valuable: the feeling of being part of something bigger than himself.
The feeling that he was no longer Li Yuan the wanderer or a pure soul searching for understanding, but Li Qingshan from Harmony Alley, Hexin—someone who had neighbors, who made cakes for the festival, who danced even if his movements were awkward, who laughed with people who had become his new family.
"It was a beautiful festival," Li Yuan said, walking under the light of the lanterns that were still hanging between the trees.
"The best festival ever," Lin Sao agreed. "And next year will be even more beautiful, because we will know each other even better."
Next year. Li Yuan felt warmth in those words. For the first time in centuries, he was not only living in the present, but also had hope for the future. Not a hope for great achievements or new understandings, but a simple hope to gather again with the people he loved, to laugh again, to share homemade food again.
That night, as he sat in the backyard with his last cup of tea, Li Yuan felt something subtly shift within his Zhenjing. Not a new understanding being born, but an old one... blooming. The Understanding of Existence, which was now no longer just about individual existence, but about existence as part of a community that lived and breathed together.
The night wind carried the scent of blooming flowers and the muffled laughter from the neighbors' houses who were still enjoying the remnants of the festival's joy.
Li Yuan smiled in the silence, knowing that today was one of the best days of his three hundred and ten years of life.
And that was enough. More than enough.