The dawn touched the window of the Miller Inn with the gentleness of a mother waking her beloved child. Golden light filtered through the simple curtain, dancing on the wooden wall in patterns that shifted with the movement of the leaves outside.
Li Yuan opened his eyes—not because he was disturbed by the light, but because his body of consciousness naturally resonated with the rhythm of the waking world. For eleven thousand years, he had learned that true awakening was not a resistance to sleep, but a natural flow from silence to consciousness.
He rose from the bed with a movement that flowed like water rising from the depths of a lake to the surface. Outside the window, Millbrook village began to move with the morning rhythm—smoke curling from chimneys, the proud sound of roosters crowing, and footsteps hurrying toward the day's activities.
A gentle knock on his door. Sarah Miller's voice from outside, a resonance of warmth and the concern of a caring innkeeper.
"Yuan? Breakfast is ready downstairs, if you're interested."
"Thank you, Sarah," Li Yuan replied, his voice flowing with a resonance of sincere appreciation. "I'll be down in a moment."
He went to the small basin in the corner of the room, washing his face with clear, cold water. When the water touched his skin, the Understanding of Water within him trembled subtly—not from using power, but from feeling the simple joy in the touch of an element that had been a part of his soul for thousands of years.
Every drop of water is an old acquaintance saying hello, he observed with a subtle smile.
Li Yuan went down to the dining room with silent steps, like the morning dew settling without disturbing the grass beneath it. Sarah Miller was already waiting at a neatly set table—fresh, still-warm bread, golden butter, honey gleaming in a small glass jar, and herbal tea that gave off a calming aroma.
"Good morning," Sarah greeted him with a warm smile. "How did you sleep? Was the room comfortable enough?"
"Very comfortable," Li Yuan answered sincerely, sitting in the wooden chair offered. "It's been a long time since I've felt such a tranquil sleep."
Sarah seemed pleased to hear the praise. She began to serve breakfast with experienced movements—the movements of someone who had for years cared for others with simple kindness.
"How long do you plan to stay in Millbrook?" she asked while pouring the tea.
Li Yuan felt the question wasn't from suspicious curiosity, but from a desire to plan good service. His Ganjing picked up the resonance of sincerity, warmth, and a little maternal concern—as if Sarah already considered him a guest to be cared for.
"I'm not sure yet," he replied, taking a piece of bread. "This village feels... special. I want to understand it more deeply before continuing my journey."
"Ah, understanding," Sarah nodded with sparkling eyes. "My husband always used to say, a good place can't be understood in one day. It takes time to feel its soul."
Those simple words struck something deep in Li Yuan's Zhenjing. Feeling the soul of a place. Sarah Miller, with the simple wisdom of an innkeeper, had touched upon one of the essences of Daojing without even realizing it.
"Your husband sounds like a wise man," Li Yuan said.
Sarah smiled with a warm nostalgia. "Tom passed away three years ago. But yes, he was wise in his own way. He was the one who taught me that listening is more important than speaking, and that serving others with your heart is the best form of prayer."
Li Yuan paused his chewing for a moment. In those simple words, he heard echoes of the most profound teachings—about silence, about service, about prayer that doesn't need words.
"He is still teaching, through you," Li Yuan said softly.
Sarah seemed moved by the words, her eyes welling up a little. "Thank you. That's... that's a beautiful thing to say."
They ate in a comfortable silence—not an awkward silence, but a silence that allowed meaning to flow without needing words. Li Yuan felt the warmth of the bread, the softness of the butter, and the sweetness of the honey, while Sarah moved calmly, refilling the tea and making sure all needs were met.
When breakfast was almost finished, Sarah said, "Yuan, if you want to understand our village more deeply, maybe you could visit some special places."
Li Yuan looked at her with genuine interest.
"There's a small market in the center of the village," Sarah continued. "It's where everyone gathers on certain days—you can hear many stories and get to know the villagers there. And..." she paused for a moment, as if hesitating.
"And?" Li Yuan gently prompted.
"There's an old tree on a small hill to the south of the village. A giant oak that's hundreds of years old. The villagers often go there when they need... peace. A place to think. My husband used to say the tree was 'the best listener in the village'."
Li Yuan felt a strange resonance when Sarah mentioned the tree. His Ganjing picked up something—not from Sarah, but from the direction she mentioned. Like a very faint echo of something familiar, but he couldn't identify it for sure.
"That tree sounds... interesting," he said.
"People say there's something special about that tree," Sarah continued in a quieter voice, as if sharing a secret. "When you sit under its shade and are truly silent, you can feel... a strange peace. Like the tree understands everything without needing an explanation."
Li Yuan slowly placed his teacup down. That description was too specific to be a coincidence. A tree that gives peace to those who sit in silence beneath it? A tree that "understands everything"?
Is it possible...?
"I think I would like to visit that tree," Li Yuan said.
Sarah nodded with understanding. "Most newcomers feel drawn to it. The path there is quite clear—follow the main road south until you see the small hill with the white stones at its base. The tree stands alone on the summit."
Li Yuan rose from his chair, feeling a call he couldn't explain. "Thank you, Sarah. For the breakfast, for the suggestion, and for... the warmth."
"Anytime," Sarah replied with a smile. "This door is always open for you."
Li Yuan walked out of the inn with a step that had a new purpose. The morning sun illuminated the village streets with a warming golden light, and a gentle wind blew with the scent of grass, flowers, and something else—something that felt like... an invitation.
He followed the main road south, passing houses with small gardens where villagers were beginning to work. Some greeted him with a polite nod, others looked at him with genuine curiosity. His Ganjing caught the resonance of kindness from every interaction—no ill intent, no excessive suspicion, just the simple friendliness of a community living in peace.
A healthy village, Li Yuan observed. A village where souls grow in fertile ground.
The small hill with the white stones at its base appeared in the distance, and Li Yuan could see the silhouette of the giant tree standing majestically on its summit. Even from a distance, there was something about the tree that made something in his Zhenjing tremble with recognition.
It can't be, his inner self whispered, yet his pace quickened.
As he began to climb the hill on a path that had been trodden by thousands of feet over the years, the resonance grew stronger. Not the resonance of an ordinary tree—but of something that had been... touched. Something that had felt the presence of a deep understanding and stored that echo in every fiber of its wood.
Li Yuan stopped halfway up the climb, his gray eyes fixed on the giant oak tree that was now more clearly visible.
And in the perfect morning silence, he felt something he had not felt in thousands of years.
An echo of himself—from a very distant past, when he was still young, still searching, still learning about what it meant to truly understand.
It's impossible for that tree to still be alive, his inner self said with a mix of awe and disbelief.
But his Ganjing did not lie.
The tree on the hill was a silent witness to a past he had long forgotten—and perhaps, the key to understanding why fate had brought him to this place, at this time, after eleven thousand years of searching.