The dawn had not yet fully broken when Li Yuan was already standing in the communal garden behind their alley. The land that was an empty plot yesterday had now been tilled and divided into small sections, each marked with bamboo sticks and string. The morning air was still cool, filled with the aroma of damp soil mixed with dew.
The earth, Li Yuan mused, kneeling and taking a handful of soil in his palm. How long has it been since I truly touched the earth? Not as a cultivator using the earth element, but as a human being who will plant something and wait for its growth?
The soil felt cold and damp in his hands, with a rich texture—not too clayey, not too sandy. Sister Lin had explained yesterday that the soil here was very fertile because for many years it had been their place to discard leftover vegetables and dried leaves.
"Good soil," Sister Lin's warm voice made Li Yuan turn his head. The middle-aged woman had arrived, carrying a basket of kale and spinach seedlings, as well as a small, worn-out but well-cared-for trowel.
"Morning, Sister Lin. Did I come too early?"
"There's no such thing as too early for gardening," Sister Lin smiled, putting down her basket. "The soil likes to be visited when it's still cool. Like a good neighbor—it prefers quiet company rather than a crowd."
Li Yuan got up and dusted his dirty hands. "What should I do first?"
Sister Lin looked at him with eyes full of care—an expression that had become familiar to Li Yuan during the months he had lived in this alley. "The first thing... feel it."
"Feel it?"
"Yes. Before planting anything, we need to feel this soil. Is it ready to receive the seeds? Does it need something? Is it... happy?"
Happy? Li Yuan almost smiled at the word. But when he saw Sister Lin's serious expression, he realized that this woman who always watched over him was not joking.
"How do you feel if the soil is happy?"
Sister Lin knelt beside the patch of land that would be Li Yuan's. "Place both of your hands here. Close your eyes. Listen. I learned this from my mother-in-law long ago—she said, the earth has feelings just like us."
Li Yuan followed the instructions with a little hesitation. He placed both palms on the cold ground, closed his eyes, and tried to "listen." At first, he heard nothing but the sound of a gentle morning breeze and the chirping of birds in the distance.
But slowly, something began to be felt.
Not through his ears, but through his palms. Like a very subtle vibration, a slow but consistent rhythm. Life, he realized with a start. This is the rhythm of life—from the small worms moving in the soil, from the grass roots still hidden, from the microorganisms invisible to the eye.
Inside his Zhenjing, the exposed Understanding of the Body began to vibrate with a strange resonance. Not a strong vibration, but a gentle acknowledgment—as if that understanding recognized something familiar. And then Li Yuan remembered: the human body is also made of earth. In the end, all living things will return to the earth.
The cycle, he understood, feeling the warmth spread from the soil to his palms. It's all about the cycle. Life, death, life again. Like the seasons, like a breath, like... an understanding that continues to evolve.
"How does it feel?" Sister Lin's warm and caring voice made him open his eyes.
"It feels like... like listening to a very slow heartbeat," Li Yuan answered honestly. "Like this earth... is alive."
Sister Lin smiled with deep satisfaction—the smile of a friend who is happy to see someone they care about understand something valuable. "Now, you are ready to plant."
The planting process turned out to be more complicated than Li Yuan had imagined. It wasn't enough just to put seeds in the soil and water them. Sister Lin patiently taught him—as she always did with other things—about the right distance between each seed ("They need space to breathe, just like us"), about the right depth ("Too shallow, they'll be washed away by the rain. Too deep, they won't be able to see the sun"), and about the correct way to water ("Like a light drizzle, not like a storm").
"Gardening," Sister Lin said, showing him how to make a small hole with her finger, "is about patience and trust. Patience to wait for growth that cannot be forced. Trust that the seed will know what to do if we provide the right conditions."
Li Yuan nodded, trying to imitate Sister Lin's movements. His hands, which for centuries had been accustomed to subtle spiritual movements, now had to learn a different kind of movement—a movement that was earthy, practical, and connected to simple life.
This is also a form of cultivation, he realized while planting his tenth kale seed. Not cultivation to achieve power or enlightenment, but cultivation to nurture something vulnerable, to be a partner in the process of creation.
"Sister Lin," Li Yuan said, carefully watering the seeds he had just planted, "why do you like gardening?"
Sister Lin was silent for a moment, her hands still moving with a practiced ease, planting spinach seedlings. "Because gardening teaches me about real life," she finally answered in a thoughtful voice. "In a garden, you can't lie. If you're lazy, the plants will wilt. If you're too excited and water them too much, the plants will rot. If you're not patient, you'll pull the plant out before its time."
"What is real life like according to you, Sister Lin?"
"A life that is honest. A life that is humble. You give care, nature gives back its results. You respect the process, the process respects you back." Sister Lin looked at Li Yuan with eyes full of warmth—the eyes of someone who had watched him grow and develop for months. "Just like you, Qingshan. Since you came to this alley, you've never asked for anything. You just gave attention, kindness, presence. And now look—everyone in this alley loves you like family."
Around eight in the morning, Chen Wei and Chen Daming came with a water jug and some gardening tools. Daming immediately ran toward Li Yuan with enthusiasm.
"Uncle Qingshan! Mama said I can learn to garden with you!"
Li Yuan smiled, looking at the boy's sparkling eyes. "You can. But you have to be patient, okay? Gardening can't be rushed."
"I'll be patient!" Daming said, kneeling beside Li Yuan. "Uncle, what's this?" he pointed to a kale seed in his palm.
"This is a kale seed. It looks very small, doesn't it? But later it will grow into a green vegetable that we can eat."
"How can it?" Daming's eyes widened in wonder. "How can a seed this small become big?"
Li Yuan was silent for a moment, feeling the subtle vibration of the Understanding of Existence within him. How to explain the mystery of growth to a child?
"Daming," Li Yuan said, taking a single kale seed and placing it in the boy's palm, "inside this small seed, there is already everything it needs to become a mature plant. Like... like inside you, there is already everything you need to become a good adult."
"Really?"
"Really. But just as this seed needs soil, water, and sun to grow, you also need affection, learning, and care from the people who love you."
Daming looked at the seed in his palm with a serious expression, as if he were looking at something magical. "Uncle, if I take good care of this seed, will it definitely grow?"
"It should," Li Yuan nodded. "But remember, Daming. Growth takes time. We can't force the seed to grow faster than it should."
"How long?"
"For kale, maybe about three weeks to a month."
"Wow, that's so long!" Daming looked a little disappointed.
Chen Wei, who heard their conversation, laughed and knelt beside his son. "Daming, good things take time. Just like when your mom was pregnant with you, dad waited for nine months."
"That's true," Daming nodded with understanding. "Okay, I'll be patient. Uncle, teach me the right way to plant!"
For the next two hours, Li Yuan spent his time teaching Daming the right way to plant. The boy turned out to be very attentive and eager to learn, although occasionally he was still too excited and would plant the seeds too deep or water them too much.
"Slowly, Daming," Li Yuan said patiently, showing him the correct way to water. "Imagine you are a gentle rain, not a waterfall."
"Like this?" Daming tried to imitate, and this time his watering was much gentler.
"That's great!"
The proud smile on Daming's face made Li Yuan feel a strange warmth in his chest. When was the last time I taught someone something so... practical? So grounded? For centuries, if he taught, it was always about abstract spiritual concepts. But teaching Daming how to garden felt more... real. More immediate in its impact.
"Uncle," Daming said, sitting on his heels, his hands dirty with soil, "I like gardening."
"Why?"
"Because... because it feels like I'm giving something life. Like I have a responsibility to nurture something."
Li Yuan was stunned to hear those words come from the mouth of a ten-year-old. Nurture. Responsibility. Concepts that took me years to fully understand, and this child already feels them instinctively.
"You're right, Daming. And you know what? When you nurture something else, you also nurture something inside yourself."
"What am I nurturing inside me?"
Li Yuan looked into the boy's innocent eyes, feeling the wisdom from his fourteen understandings resonating in a gentle harmony. "Compassion. Patience. And the understanding that all life is connected."
That afternoon, as the sun began to set in the west, Li Yuan stood in the middle of the communal garden, looking at the results of their work. Ten small plots, each planted with different seedlings or seeds: kale, spinach, chili, tomatoes, and several other local vegetables.
Chen Wei stood next to him, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I didn't expect gardening to be this tiring."
"But it's a pleasant kind of tired," Li Yuan answered, feeling a pleasant soreness in his back and arm muscles. "A kind of tired that is... meaningful."
"Yes. It's different from being tired after working in the workshop. This is like a tired that is... nurturing."
Sister Lin, who was tidying up the gardening tools, heard their conversation and smiled—the warm smile she always gave to Li Yuan and Chen Wei. "You two are starting to feel the magic of gardening."
"Magic?" Chen Wei asked with curiosity.
"Yes. The magic of becoming a partner with nature. The magic of caring for something without expectation for immediate return. The magic of trusting that if you give love and care, the universe will respond with abundance." Sister Lin looked at her two friends with affection. "And the magic of doing something together with the people you care about."
Li Yuan felt a subtle vibration from all the understandings wrapped in his abdomen—like a gentle recognition of a profound truth. This, he realized, is the same wisdom I sought for centuries, but expressed in the simplest and most practical form.
Gardening is meditation. It is cultivation. It is a way to understand the cycle of life and death, to practice patience and trust, to learn how to be a caretaker rather than a conqueror.
That night, Li Yuan sat in the backyard of his house, cleaning the soil that was still stuck under his nails. His hands were rough and slightly calloused, but there was a deep satisfaction in that feeling—the satisfaction of meaningful physical labor.
Inside his Zhenjing, his three exposed understandings vibrated with a new harmony. The Understanding of the Body had developed a deeper appreciation for the physical connection with the earth. The Understanding of Existence had expanded to include an understanding of being present in the process of growth, not just in static moments. And the Understanding of the Wrapper had learned a new way to contain and channel energy—not for hiding spiritual power, but for focusing attention and care on small, vulnerable things.
Tomorrow, Li Yuan thought, looking at the clear night sky, I will wake up and check the garden before going to the House of Words. I will water the plants if the soil feels dry. I will observe if there are any signs of new growth.
And in three weeks, if I am patient and consistent in my care, I will witness a small miracle: the seeds I planted today will become green vegetables that I can share with my neighbors.
This is a different timeline from spiritual cultivation—there are no instant breakthroughs, no dramatic transformations. Only a slow, steady, natural process that requires presence, patience, and love every day.
And perhaps, he realized with a deep sense of peace, this is the most profound form of cultivation: learning to nurture life with hands-on care, to be a partner in natural processes, to find joy in growth that is slow but steady.
The night wind carried the fresh scent of soil and the promise of future growth, and Li Yuan smiled—the smile of one who has found a new form of spiritual practice, one that is grounded in the earth and rooted in love for the simple yet essential things in life.