That morning, Li Yuan awoke before the rooster crowed, as he usually did. But this time, it wasn't due to spiritual habit or some profound inner calling—it was because of the aroma of rice cakes being steamed by Lin Sao next door, drifting in through the open wooden window with the morning breeze.
The senses respond to daily life, he thought with a faint smile. Not cosmic resonance anymore, but the smell of a neighbor's cooking.
He rose with movements that had become a ritual—not hurried like a cultivator chasing a breakthrough, but at the pace of a man who knew a good day awaited him. His Understanding of the Body responded gently, giving him just enough energy to begin the day without excess.
In the simple kitchen—no more than a clay stove and a few iron pots—Li Yuan prepared tea with familiar gestures. The water, drawn from the communal well shared by four families in their small alley, was boiled in an old iron kettle he had bought at the market. The tea leaves were measured with a wooden spoon carved by Chen Wei, a gift from his first month living there.
Every action was a small meditation—not a formal one meant to attain enlightenment, but a daily mindfulness that brought peace.
While waiting for the water to boil, he opened his wooden door and found a bundle of rice cakes left on the threshold by Granny Zhou—a habit that had grown over the past weeks. She always steamed more cakes than her family needed, and rather than let them go to waste, she shared them with her neighbors.
A virtue born of sincerity, Li Yuan reflected as he inhaled the fragrance of the warm cakes. A surplus shared not for gain, but because generosity is natural to the good-hearted.
"Morning, Uncle Qingshan!"
Li Yuan turned to see Chen Daming—Chen Wei's ten-year-old son—running toward school with a woven satchel on his back. Despite his hurry, the boy never failed to greet him before dashing off to meet his teacher at the village hall.
"Good morning, Daming. Be careful on the road."
"I will! Oh, baba said later he'll teach you how to make a stool. Do you want to join?"
Li Yuan nodded with a smile. "Of course. Thank you for reminding me."
Daming bowed politely before sprinting off again, and warmth rose in Li Yuan's chest. In the past four months, he had become something of an "uncle" to the children of the alley—not by blood, but in a simpler way: a neighbor they respected and trusted.
After a modest breakfast—Granny Zhou's rice cakes with tea and a little honey from the Wang family's bees—Li Yuan prepared to head to the House of Words. He took his plain cloth bag with his lunch (rice cooked by Lin Sao with vegetables from their alley's back gardens) and a small silk scroll of poetry—not lofty spiritual texts, but verses about village life.
As he stepped out, he met Lin Sao sweeping her front yard with a broom of bundled twigs.
"Qingshan, already leaving? You're early today."
"Nothing unusual, Lin Sao. Perhaps you just woke up earlier because of the spring weather."
She chuckled, pausing her sweeping. "True enough. Spring makes it easier to rise." Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, later this afternoon we're holding a neighbors' meeting. Would you like to come? It's just about fixing the community hall's roof and tidying the shared garden. Nothing complicated."
Li Yuan hesitated. A neighbors' meeting—a gathering to discuss common affairs. He had never attended before, feeling too new. But now, after four months...
"May I join?"
"Of course! We'd be delighted. You're already like family here." Her smile warmed. "At Granny Zhou's house, when the sun tilts west. Bring your own bowl—we'll share a meal after."
"Alright. Thank you for inviting me, Lin Sao."
"Not at all. We should be the ones thanking you for becoming part of our little alley."
The walk to the House of Words in Hexin's town center felt different that morning. Li Yuan passed alleys stirring with daily bustle, greeted vendors carrying their wares to market, and glimpsed the mountains veiled in light mist.
Maybe it was the invitation to the meeting. Maybe Daming including him so naturally in his father's plans. Maybe the rice cakes left without expectation.
I truly am becoming part of this community, he realized, weaving through the morning market in the town square. Not as an observer or a guest in disguise, but as Li Qingshan who actually belongs here.
His Understanding of Existence pulsed softly, responding with a warm, steady vibration. Not the tremor of a spiritual breakthrough, but the recognition of a shift—something fundamental had changed in how he lived in the world.
At the House of Words—a wooden building with tiled roof sheltering silk scrolls and rare books—Li Yuan was greeted by Master Shen, already arrived.
"Good morning, Qingshan. You look… spirited today."
"Good morning, Master Shen. Perhaps it's the warming weather."
"Or perhaps because Lin Sao invited you to the neighbors' meeting?" Shen's eyes twinkled knowingly. "News travels quickly in a town like Hexin."
Li Yuan laughed—a sound he hadn't made so naturally in years before these past months. "You've already heard?"
"Lin Sao told Madam Wang while fetching water. Madam Wang told her daughter-in-law by the river. And that daughter-in-law happens to live next to me." Shen shook his head with amusement. "That's life in a small town. No secrets, but also—no one is ever alone."
No one is ever alone. The phrase struck deep. Across his three hundred and ten years, solitude had been his natural condition—whether as pure soul, seeker, or wanderer. Aloneness was familiar.
But now, for the first time, he understood what it meant not to be alone—in a healthy, joyful sense.
The day passed in its familiar rhythm. Li Yuan helped townsfolk find texts for important letters, copied fading manuscripts, and even taught the child of a merchant to read.
"Uncle, what does this character mean?" the boy asked, pointing to a complex glyph on silk.
"This means 'happiness,'" Li Yuan answered patiently. "See, here's the radical for 'divinity,' and here is 'mouth.' It's like heaven's blessing that brings smiles."
The boy nodded enthusiastically, and warmth filled Li Yuan again. Not the satisfaction of great spiritual progress, but of sharing simple knowledge with someone who needed it.
This too is a way of spreading wisdom, he thought, guiding the boy's brush as he practiced. Perhaps the simplest and most direct way.
By evening, Li Yuan walked home through alleys scented with cooking meals. He bathed in cold well water—a habit kept more for freshness now than strict discipline—and changed into clean hanfu.
When the sun leaned west, he took a plain ceramic bowl and went to Granny Zhou's house—the oldest in the alley, with a yard large enough for gatherings.
"Qingshan! You made it at last!"
He was welcomed warmly by neighbors already seated cross-legged on woven mats. About ten heads of families were present, along with children playing in a corner.
"Sit here by me," Chen Wei called, patting the mat. "We've long awaited the day you'd join us."
"Yes, we thought you didn't like crowds," added Mr. Ma—who just last week had quarreled with Mr. Zhou over a boundary, now reconciled.
Li Yuan sat with a strange but good feeling. He was in the circle—not as a distant master or lofty sage, but as an equal neighbor, known and accepted.
When was the last time I sat in a circle like this? he wondered. Not as a teacher on a pedestal, but as one among them?
The meeting was warm and lively. Granny Zhou, as the alley elder, led discussions on repairing the leaky community hall roof, scheduling a joint ditch cleaning, and planning the shared vegetable garden.
"Qingshan," she said with gentle authority, "would you like to join the gardening group? We'll plant water spinach, leafy greens, and chili. Handy for daily meals."
"I've no experience with gardening," Li Yuan admitted.
"That's fine! We'll learn together," Lin Sao chimed in. "Besides, Chen Wei can teach you—he's always tending plants at his workshop."
Chen Wei nodded. "It's simple. Patience and care are all you need."
Warmth welled in Li Yuan again—the warmth of being accepted without condition, included without demand, treated as part of something greater.
"Alright. I'll join."
Smiles and nods rippled through the circle. Li Yuan felt something long missing: a sense of belonging, simple yet profound.
"Oh yes," Mr. Zhou added, scratching his chin, "next week is the Mid-Spring Festival. We'll have a small celebration here in the alley. Will you help with preparations, Qingshan?"
"The Mid-Spring Festival?" Li Yuan asked.
"Yes, it's when crops sprout lushly and the weather turns warm," Granny Zhou explained with bright eyes. "It's a small tradition here—cooking together, simple games for children, chatting into the night."
"I'll join," Li Yuan replied without hesitation. "How can I help?"
"Wonderful!" Lin Sao clapped her hands. "You can help Chen Wei build tables for the food. And if you like, you can also help us cook."
"Or tell stories for the children," Chen Wei added with a smile. "You must have many from your travels."
Li Yuan smiled, sensing how naturally he was given a place in this community—not forced, but invited, in ways that suited him.
When the meeting ended and they shared dinner—rice with stir-fried greens and salted fish prepared by Lin Sao—Li Yuan sat among his neighbors, listening to the easy flow of conversation. Chen Wei spoke of a new stool order, Granny Zhou gave chili-planting tips, Mr. Ma and Mr. Zhou even joked about their past quarrel.
This, Li Yuan thought, sipping warm soup, is what it means to have a home.
Not a home as in a building, but a place where the soul can rest, where one can be oneself without masks, where each day carries meaningful interactions with those who care.
Later, walking home with light steps, he reflected on the day.
Nothing spectacular had happened. No spiritual breakthrough, no mystical attainment. Only an ordinary day lived with good people, full of simple routines that gave meaning and contentment.
And that is more than enough, he realized, opening his wooden door. This is a life that is full and rich.
In his room before sleep, he felt the gentle hum of his three Understandings. They hadn't advanced dramatically, but deepened—integration with daily life, responsiveness to communal needs.
His Understanding of Existence was no longer only about "being," but about "being together"—woven into living bonds of support. His Understanding of the Body had grown beyond sustaining form, now sensing the communal rhythm—when to work, when to rest, when to gather. And his Understanding of Enclosure had become more than a shield—it was now a wise filter, letting warmth and care flow outward while softening his spiritual presence so as not to overwhelm others.
Tomorrow, he thought, closing his eyes, I will wake again in this home. I will greet Daming on his way to school. I will work at the House of Words. I will begin learning to garden with my neighbors. I will help prepare for the Mid-Spring Festival.
And that is the deepest cultivation I have ever known.
That night, his dreams bloomed green—green of the plants they would grow together, green of leaves dancing in the spring wind, green of hopes for festivals and seasons to come, in the community that had become home for his soul.