The journey had only just begun. After days of preparation, training, and parting farewells, Lin Hai, Xu Min, Lei Fan, and Qing Zhi had finally stepped beyond the village's wooden gates. The sun was gently peeking over the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the wide fields. There was no sense of urgency in their steps. There was no beast in sight, no enemy lurking in the shadows—only the rustling of leaves, the whispers of the wind, and the occasional cry of birds in the distance.
They didn't speak for a while. The world around them was speaking enough.
The four walked down a dirt path, flanked on either side by tall grass that shimmered with morning dew. The path curved along the edges of rice paddies, where farmers could already be seen tending to their crops. Water buffalos lazily trotted by, pulling wooden carts filled with tools and freshly harvested bundles. Children played barefoot along the path, laughing and running between the trees. Every scene was ordinary, yet strangely beautiful.
Qing Zhi stopped for a moment and knelt beside the path, brushing her fingers against the petals of a wildflower. "How delicate," she whispered.
Xu Min turned his gaze toward a small hill, where a line of colorful prayer flags danced in the morning breeze. "There is peace here," he said softly. "I never noticed it before."
Lin Hai smiled faintly. "Because we were always running. From training to missions, to our goals... but today, we walk."
They took a break near a stream. The water flowed gently, catching the sunlight and turning it into silver ribbons. Lei Fan pulled off his boots and dipped his feet in. He sighed, a deep contented sound that only comes from true relaxation. Qing Zhi joined him, her sleeves rolled up, hands trailing in the water.
They stayed like that for a while, not counting time.
As the sun reached higher into the sky, they continued their path into a small forest. Shafts of light pierced through the canopy, casting a magical glow on the ground below. They came across a small family of deer drinking from a shallow pool. Lin Hai raised his hand, signaling the others to stop. None of them moved, simply observing. The deer looked up at them—then returned to drinking.
"Even the wild no longer fears us," Qing Zhi murmured. "Or perhaps... we've stopped being frightening."
Time passed like a dream.
When noon arrived, they reached a clearing where peach trees bloomed, unseasonal but vibrant. A traveling merchant sat beneath one of them, boiling tea on a portable stove. He waved them over with a cheerful smile.
"Rest, travelers! The road is long, but the moment is now."
Intrigued, they joined him. He poured them steaming cups of floral tea and offered roasted chestnuts. Stories were exchanged—simple tales of village festivals, lucky encounters, and the art of folding paper cranes. He had a small wooden box filled with them, each colored differently.
"I've folded one for every day I felt grateful," the old merchant said. "And look—still folding."
Lin Hai took a crane and examined it. "You must have had many peaceful days."
"No," the man replied, eyes twinkling. "But I remember every peaceful moment when they come."
The lesson lingered.
As the day wore on, the group continued their walk, coming across a valley where the wind played songs through bamboo stalks. The melody was soft, almost like a lullaby. Lei Fan sat down in the grass and stared at the clouds drifting above. "We always say we don't have time," he said. "But the clouds... they always float."
"That's why they're clouds," Xu Min grinned. "No mission. No end point."
Later that evening, as dusk approached, they reached a hilltop. Below them stretched a vast field of golden wheat, swaying gently in the breeze. Lanterns began to glow in distant houses, fireflies danced in the air, and the sky blushed in hues of orange and purple.
They decided to camp there for the night. No hurry. No monsters. Just the sky and the stars.
They set a small fire and sat around it, not talking much. The silence was comforting.
Qing Zhi hummed a song her grandmother used to sing. Xu Min softly drummed his fingers on a wooden box. Lei Fan leaned back on his hands, gazing at the moon. Lin Hai simply sat, letting his thoughts drift like leaves in a stream.
He thought of Elder Yun Yi's words—the ones he once found difficult to understand. Now, they felt closer, clearer. Sometimes, wisdom doesn't arrive through force or study. Sometimes, it arrives like this: slowly, gently, between moments.
That night, they didn't dream of glory. They dreamed of laughter. Of running barefoot through the rain. Of warm tea on cold days. Of friends sitting around a fire.
In a world that moved fast, that demanded more strength, more power, more breakthroughs—this day was a quiet rebellion. A reminder that not all movement is forward. Sometimes, the best movement is stillness. The best growth is silent. The best power is peace.
Life was fleeting. But in its fleeting nature, it offered countless little moments. And if you noticed them—if you truly lived them—it was enough.
As Lin Hai closed his eyes, the wind whispered through the trees. It didn't rush. It didn't push. It simply moved, like life itself.
And so, the chapter ended—not with a fight, not with a revelation, but with a breath. A single, precious breath.
A moment worth living.