The fifth year was a year of meaningful preparation.
Li Yuan began his last year on the island with a simple ritual he had never planned before. He woke up before dawn and walked to every place that had become an important part of his life on this island—his wooden house, the plant formation, the small spring, the spiritual cave, the valley of flowers, and the hidden bay.
In each place, he stopped and stood in silence for a few minutes, doing nothing but recalling the important moments he had experienced there.
"A good farewell requires good preparation," he said to himself as he returned home when the sun began to rise.
Qinglu was waiting for him in the yard, and Li Yuan could feel that the deer also understood the significance of this year. There was a different quality of attention in the way Qinglu followed his movements, as if it also wanted to record every remaining moment.
"We will spend this year well, my friend," Li Yuan said while scratching the back of Qinglu's ears.
The first few months of the fifth year, Li Yuan spent finishing small projects that had been postponed. He repaired parts of the house that could still be fixed, rearranged the plant formation to be more stable for the long term, and even made some small wooden carvings as a kind of "souvenir" that he would leave behind.
It wasn't because he planned to return to this island someday. But because there was something satisfying in leaving a trace of his presence in a beautiful and meaningful way.
One of his biggest projects was building a better shelter for Qinglu. He didn't know if the deer would stay around the house after he left, but he wanted to make sure his friend had adequate protection if it chose to.
"I can't take you with me," Li Yuan said to Qinglu while working to build the larger shelter. "But I want to make sure you have a good home here."
Qinglu looked at him with calm eyes, as if understanding and accepting the decision without resistance.
The rainy season of the fifth year brought a different emotional intensity. Li Yuan spent a lot of time inside the house, not just because of the weather, but because he wanted to fully experience being in the space he had built and inhabited for five years.
He sat in different corners of the house, feeling the texture of the wood he had shaped with his own hands, listening to the sound of rain on the thatched roof he had woven, observing how the light changed throughout the day in a space that had become so familiar.
"This is the first home I truly designed myself," he mused. "After thousands of years of living, this is the first time I've had a place that is a complete reflection of my own choices."
There was a profound satisfaction in that realization. Even if he would be leaving this place, the experience of creating and inhabiting a space that perfectly suited his needs and tastes had given him something valuable—an understanding of how the physical environment can be an extension of one's inner state.
The middle of the fifth year brought a moment he would cherish forever.
One night, as Li Yuan was sitting in the spiritual spring cave, he felt an unusual vibration from the water in the pool. It wasn't a physical vibration, but a kind of very subtle spiritual "call."
He approached the edge of the pool and placed his hand on the surface of the water. What he felt moved him to the brink of tears.
The water in the pool was giving him a "farewell gift"—access to the deepest layer of the island's spiritual archive that he had never touched before.
Through that touch, Li Yuan saw the complete history of Narau Island in the form of visions that flowed like a movie in his consciousness. He saw how this island was formed from volcanic activity thousands of years ago. How the first life arrived here—seeds carried by the wind and birds from distant lands.
He saw the gradual evolution of the ecosystem, how each species found its place, how spiritual balance slowly developed over centuries without the conscious intervention of a high-consciousness being.
And most movingly, he saw how his arrival five years ago had become a part of the island's history. Not as a disturbance or a threat, but as a new chapter in the ongoing spiritual evolution.
"I am a part of your story," Li Yuan whispered to the water in the pool. "And you are a part of mine."
The visions lasted until late at night, and when they finally ended, Li Yuan felt a sense of completeness he had never imagined before. He had not just lived on this island for five years—he had become a part of the island's soul, and the island had become a part of his soul.
The last dry season on the island brought the most difficult task: beginning to gradually release emotional attachments.
Li Yuan began to spend a little less time with Qinglu each day, giving the deer a chance to start returning to a routine that didn't depend on him. He began to reduce the intensive care of the plant formation, letting them start adapting to greater independence.
It was not an easy process. Many times he felt the urge to return to the old pattern of interaction, to give his full attention as usual. But he understood that true love sometimes requires a gradual release.
"Letting go with love," he often said to himself, "is harder than letting go with anger."
Toward the end of the fifth year, Li Yuan began to feel a faint "call" from the world outside the island. Not a specific or dramatic call, but a kind of subtle pull that reminded him that there were aspects of his life journey that could only be continued through interaction with other consciousnesses.
One night, while sitting in the hidden bay for the last time, he felt a complete peace with his decision.
"Five years," he said to the waves that came and went. "Five years that taught me that sometimes stopping is the best way to move forward."
He had come to this island as a soul fractured by loss and tragedy. He would leave this island as a whole soul, who had learned about peace, simplicity, and joy in small things.
On the last night of the fifth year, Li Yuan spent time in a long farewell ritual. He sat in the middle of the plant formation, surrounded by Qinglu and all the green friends who had accompanied him for five years.
"Thank you," he said to all of them. "For teaching me that family doesn't have to be made of blood or even the same species. Sometimes family is made of sincere presence and simple love."
The plants vibrated with a harmony he recognized as a return of gratitude. Qinglu came close and laid its head on Li Yuan's lap for the last time as a daily routine.
In the silence of that night, Li Yuan felt a final internal transformation. He no longer felt like a person "hiding" from the world on this island. He felt like a person who had "prepared" to return to the world in a wiser and more loving way.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to the stars shining in the clear sky, "a new adventure will begin."
But tonight, he was still at home, surrounded by simple love and the peace he had learned to cherish.
The fifth year ended with Li Yuan falling asleep for the last time in the wooden house he had built with his own hands, with Qinglu sleeping beside him and the sound of the waves providing a familiar lullaby.
Tomorrow, he would begin preparing for his departure. But tonight, he was still fully present in the place that had taught him the true meaning of the word "home."