That afternoon, Li Yuan sat in the backyard of Granny Zhou's house, which was filled with children from their alley. Nine pairs of eyes gleamed at him with enthusiasm—ten-year-old Chen Daming sat in the front, while the youngest, Master Ma's five-year-old daughter, hid behind her brother, peeking with curiosity.
"Uncle Qingshan," Chen Daming said in an excited voice, "Mama said you're going to tell a fairy tale for the festival?"
Li Yuan smiled as he adjusted his position on the woven mat. This was a request that came from Sister Lin that morning—as part of the Mid-Spring Festival, they wanted to have a storytelling session for the children. And somehow, everyone immediately agreed that Li Yuan was the right person for this task.
Stories, he thought, looking at the innocent faces in front of him. How to tell three hundred and ten years of life in a form that children can understand?
"What kind of fairy tale do you want to hear?" Li Yuan asked softly.
"One with a fight!" exclaimed an eight-year-old boy.
"One with a princess!" added the girl next to him.
"A scary one!" Chen Daming proposed with sparkling eyes.
"Not a scary one," the little girl who was hiding protested. "Just a nice one."
Li Yuan laughed—a sound that felt strange yet warm to his own ears. All different desires, but at their core, they all want the same thing: a story that touches the heart.
"Alright," Li Yuan said, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing his consciousness to flow into his Zhenjing. There, fourteen understandings vibrated gently—eleven wrapped neatly like seeds of warm light, while the three that were exposed formed a subtle resonance.
His Understanding of Existence whispered about the importance of being fully present in this moment. His Understanding of the Body regulated his breath so his voice would sound calming. And his Understanding of the Wrapper... ah, his Understanding of the Wrapper gave him inspiration on how to wrap truth in a beautiful form without losing its essence.
"There was a boy," Li Yuan began to tell with a soft but clear voice, "who was born in a small village surrounded by high mountains."
In that village, there was nothing special. No magnificent palace, no bustling market, no famous academy. Only simple houses, green rice fields, and people who lived in peace.
The boy had strange eyes—gray like a cloudy sky. The villagers often said that his eyes looked like the eyes of an adult who had seen much of the world, even though he was still very young.
What made the boy different was not that he was smart or strong, but because he always asked strange questions. "Why does water flow downward?" he asked his mother. "Where does the wind go after it blows?" he asked his father. "Why do flowers bloom in the spring?" he asked anyone who would listen.
One day, a wise old teacher came to the village. He saw the boy and said, "Little one, your questions are not about answers. Your questions are about understanding."
"What's the difference?" the boy asked.
"An answer makes us stop asking. Understanding makes us ask deeper."
Li Yuan paused for a moment, looking at the children's faces listening seriously. Chen Daming frowned, appearing to be thinking hard about the difference between an answer and an understanding.
"Then what happened to the boy, Uncle?" one of the girls asked.
The boy grew up carrying those questions in his heart. He traveled to many places, met many people, saw amazing and sad things. On his journey, he met water that taught him about patience, with the wind that taught him about freedom, with the earth that taught him about resilience.
Each encounter gave him something valuable—not riches or power, but understanding. Understanding of how the world works, of how the human heart beats, of how life flows like a never-ending river.
One day, after years of wandering, he arrived at a small town that was very similar to the village where he was born. There, he saw something that surprised him.
"What did he see?" Chen Daming asked curiously.
He saw children playing in the alley, mothers cooking while chatting, fathers working while joking, grandparents telling stories under a tree. He saw people who lived simply, but with hearts full of love.
And he realized something surprising: all the understanding he had sought for so many years of wandering, was actually already in places like this. In the way people helped each other without being asked. In the way they shared food when someone was in need. In the way they sat together when someone was sad.
The understanding of kindness. The understanding of friendship. The understanding of home.
Li Yuan felt a subtle vibration from the Understanding of Memories wrapped in his abdomen—like a warmth that spread slowly through his bones. He was not actively accessing that understanding, but its resonance seemed to remind him of all the beautiful moments he had experienced: Ye Ling's smile when she taught him his first characters, Li Houming's wisdom about becoming a plum tree, the friendship with Mu Yi and Fan Tu, and even... the simple moments with his neighbors in this alley.
"Then he stayed in that town?" asked the little girl who had been hiding, now brave enough to sit closer.
Yes, Li Yuan continued with an increasingly gentle voice. He decided to stay in that small town. Not because he was tired of wandering, but because he realized that the deepest understanding is often found in the simplest places, with the most sincere people.
He learned to garden, learned to cook, learned to fix leaky roofs, learned to listen to neighbors' stories without judgment. And most surprisingly... he learned that being happy is not about finding something extraordinary, but about appreciating the ordinary things that happen every day.
Every morning, he woke up not to seek a new adventure, but to greet neighbors who were like family. Every night, he slept not with dreams of faraway places, but with gratitude for the place where he was.
And he realized that this was the greatest adventure: learning to be a complete human being among the people who loved him for who he was.
Silence descended on the small yard—not an empty silence, but a full one, like a breath held before a smile. Li Yuan saw the small eyes looking at him with different expressions: some were pensive, some were smiling, some seemed to be digesting the meaning of the story.
"Uncle," Chen Daming said slowly, "the boy in the story... is like you, isn't he?"
Li Yuan was silent for a moment, feeling how that innocent question touched something deep inside him. A very intelligent child, he thought with a smile. Or perhaps the truth is so clear that even children can see it.
"Perhaps," Li Yuan answered carefully. "Or perhaps it's a story about anyone who has ever felt like they didn't have a place, then found that home is where the heart feels at peace."
"But you came from a far away place, right? And then you found our alley?" the little girl asked with sparkling eyes.
"Yes," Li Yuan nodded honestly. "And all of you made me feel like... like I've come home."
Small smiles bloomed on the children's faces, and Li Yuan felt something strange yet warm in his chest. This, he realized, is how a good story works. It's not about entertaining or teaching, but about sharing truth in a way that can be felt by the heart.
"Uncle," a boy asked, "when you tell stories at the festival, can you tell that one again?"
"Or another story!" Chen Daming added with enthusiasm. "You must have many stories!"
Li Yuan laughed as he rose from the mat. "We'll see. Maybe you can also tell stories about interesting things you've experienced."
"We can tell stories too?" the small eyes widened with excitement.
"Of course. Every person has a valuable story to share."
As the children ran home to their respective houses with laughter and cheerful chatter, Li Yuan stood alone in Granny Zhou's yard, looking at the evening sky that was beginning to turn orange.
Storytelling, he mused, feeling the gentle vibration of his fourteen understandings resonating with the experience he had just gone through. Who would have thought that sharing fragments of my life's journey in the form of a fairy tale could feel so... healing?
Inside his Zhenjing, the wrapped Understanding of Memories vibrated with a new warmth. Not because he was actively accessing it, but because the process of storytelling had given him a new perspective on his long journey. All the experiences—from his childhood curiosity in Ziran, the quest at Qinglong Academy, the sacrifice on the battlefield, to the simple happiness in this small alley—all were part of one great story about learning to be a complete human being.
The past is no longer a burden to carry, he realized as he walked home through the alley that was beginning to be illuminated by paper lanterns from the neighbors' houses. The past is a gift to share, a memory to be turned into wisdom, an experience to be transformed into a story that can touch the hearts of others.
That night, Li Yuan sat at his small table, writing the continuation of the report for Master Shen. But this time, what he wrote was not just a description of the Hexin traditions, but also a reflection on the power of storytelling in building community bonds.
"The tradition of storytelling in Hexin," he wrote with a smoothly moving brush, "is not merely entertainment or a way to pass the time. Through stories, people share experiences, pass on wisdom, and create a bond that is deeper than just neighbors living next to each other.
Children who hear stories learn that life's journey always has meaning, that their questions are valuable, that home can be found in the most unexpected places. Adults who tell stories learn that their experiences have value to be shared, that the past can be a gift to the next generation.
This is what makes the Hexin community different: they don't just live side by side, but share stories that make them truly know each other."
When he finished writing, Li Yuan reread his words with a smile. He had just realized that in the process of documenting local traditions, he was actually learning to understand the value of his own life.
Tomorrow, he thought, putting down the brush, I will help Sister Lin cook for the festival. I will help Chen Wei finish his carvings. I will help decorate the alley with paper lanterns.
And when the festival arrives, I will tell another story. Not as Li Yuan the seeker of understanding, but as Li Qingshan who has found his home.
The night wind carried the increasingly fragrant scent of plum blossoms, and Li Yuan felt a perfect peace—not the peace of one who has reached a spiritual peak, but the peace of one who has learned to find happiness in simple things: sharing stories with children, building friendships with neighbors, and realizing that every day is a new opportunity to be a better human being.
That night, Li Yuan's dreams were filled with sounds: the laughter of children hearing a story, the warm conversations between neighbors, and the gentle whispers of his fourteen understandings resonating in perfect harmony—a simple yet beautiful symphony of life, ordinary yet magical.