The morning air carried the scent of ripe wheat and dew evaporating under the first rays of sunlight. Li Yuan woke to the sounds of activity that had already started at dawn—the sound of scythes cutting wheat stalks, the loud conversations of farmers organizing the day's work, and the laughter of children who couldn't wait to help with the biggest harvest of the year.
The harvest season in Millbrook wasn't just about collecting crops. It was a time when the entire community united, when differences in status or profession were temporarily forgotten for a common goal. Li Yuan had heard about this tradition from Sarah Miller and Thomas Aldrich, but this was the first time he would participate directly.
Li Yuan went down to the inn's dining room and found Sarah already busy preparing bread and food for the harvest workers. Her son, David Miller, was packing drinking water into clay bottles.
"Good morning, Yuan," Sarah greeted him with a bright smile, even though her face already showed the fatigue of an early start. "Ready for your first day of harvest?"
"As ready as I can be," Li Yuan replied, taking a piece of warm bread. "What do I need to do?"
David looked up from his work. "You'll be placed with Marcus's group in the northern field. It's the hardest work—cutting the wheat and tying it into bundles. Are you sure you're up for it? It's not easy work."
Li Yuan smiled. In his eleven thousand years, he had done all kinds of physical work when disguised as an ordinary human. Cutting wheat might not be the toughest.
"I'll do my best," he replied.
When Li Yuan arrived at the northern field, the sun was already high enough to make the air warm. Marcus was waiting with five other men—all villagers Li Yuan knew, including Edwin Fletcher and Henrik Carter, who were now working side-by-side harmoniously after their land boundary issue was resolved.
"Yuan!" Marcus greeted him with a wide grin. "Ready to sweat?"
"Ready," Li Yuan replied, taking the scythe provided.
Marcus explained the technique—how to hold the scythe, the correct cutting angle, how to tie the wheat in bundles that wouldn't come loose during transport. Li Yuan listened attentively, then started to work.
The job demanded a consistent rhythm. Cut, gather, tie, place. Cut, gather, tie, place. Under the increasingly hot sun, sweat began to flow, and muscles unaccustomed to this repetitive motion started to protest.
But there was something meditative in this work rhythm. It was like another form of understanding—not the cosmic understanding of the Dao, but a simpler understanding of how food gets to the table, of how a community survives through shared labor.
"Not bad for a beginner," Edwin commented after the first hour. "You've got a good rhythm."
"Thanks to a good teacher," Li Yuan replied, wiping sweat from his forehead.
The work continued until midday, when Anna Brennan and several other women arrived with lunch for the workers. Lila came with her mother, running between the bundles of wheat with the cheerfulness of a child who saw the harvest as a grand adventure.
"Papa! Yuan!" she exclaimed, running toward them. "Look! I helped Mama bring the food!"
Marcus lifted his daughter, even though his hands were dirty from the work. "What a useful little girl. What did Mama cook for us?"
"Chicken soup and fresh bread," Lila answered proudly. "And I helped cut the carrots!"
They sat and rested in the shade of a large oak tree at the edge of the field. Li Yuan felt a strange satisfaction—aching muscles, calloused hands, but also a sense of accomplishment born from physical work that produced something tangible.
"Yuan," Henrik said while chewing his bread, "how does your first harvest season in Millbrook feel?"
Li Yuan looked at the partially harvested field, the neatly stacked bundles of wheat, and the tired but satisfied faces around him.
"It feels like... finally understanding something I didn't realize I was looking for," he answered honestly.
"What do you mean?" Anna asked while pouring water for Li Yuan.
Li Yuan searched for the right words. "For years of wandering, I saw many places, met many people. But I always felt like an observer from the outside, not a part of something. Here, working together with all of you like this... I feel like I'm finally part of something bigger than myself."
Marcus nodded with understanding. "That's what makes Millbrook special. Not because we're perfect, but because we're truly a community. When one person needs help, the others come to help. When there's a big job like the harvest, everyone contributes."
"And when a new person comes with an open heart," Anna added, looking at Li Yuan with a warm smile, "we accept them as family."
Lila, who was playing with a wheat stalk, suddenly said, "Yuan, after the harvest is done, there will be a big celebration! With music, dancing, and good food!"
"The Harvest Festival," Marcus explained. "It's our annual tradition. The whole village gathers to celebrate the results of our hard work all year."
Li Yuan felt a warm anticipation. "That sounds like a wonderful celebration."
"And you'll be a part of it," Edwin said with certainty. "You've worked as hard as all of us."
In the afternoon, as the sun began to set, they continued their work. Li Yuan began to feel a deeper communal rhythm—the way Marcus set the pace so no one would get overly tired, the way Edwin and Henrik helped each other without being asked, the way they all moved like a single organism with a common purpose.
When the first day of harvest ended, Li Yuan felt like he had passed a kind of rite of initiation. His hands were raw, his back was sore, and his shirt was wet with sweat, but there was a deep satisfaction—a satisfaction he had never felt from all his spiritual achievements or cosmic understandings over thousands of years.
"Good work today," Marcus said as they walked back to the village in the twilight. "Tomorrow we'll continue with the eastern field."
"I'll be ready," Li Yuan replied.
"Yuan," Anna said when they arrived at the intersection leading to their respective homes, "thank you for working hard today. And thank you for... becoming part of our family."
Li Yuan felt something tremble in his chest—not a resonance from the Daojing or supernatural power, but something perhaps more valuable: a genuine sense of belonging, the feeling of being loved and appreciating others unconditionally.
"Thank you for letting me be a part of it," he replied with a voice that was slightly shaky with emotion.
That night, as Li Yuan soaked his aching feet in a basin of warm water in his room, he reflected on the day that had just passed. There was no search for cosmic understanding, no spiritual cultivation, no contemplation of the Dao. Just hard work alongside people who cared for him, for a simple but important common goal.
Perhaps, he thought, looking out the window at the village that was beginning to settle down, this is the truest form of cultivation. The cultivation of humanity, the cultivation of community, the cultivation of love.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of laughter and conversation from other houses—families gathered after a productive day of work, sharing stories and planning for tomorrow.
For the first time in his eleven thousand years of existence, Li Yuan fell asleep with the feeling that tomorrow wasn't just a continuation of endless time, but something he looked forward to—another day to work with the people he loved, to be part of something beautiful and meaningful.
Outside the window, the stars shone above a peaceful Millbrook, unaware that they were witnessing someone who had existed for thousands of years finally finding what it meant to be human.