Over a month had passed since their feet last touched the soil of Millbrook, and the world around them had turned into an endless green wilderness. The forest was like a breathing ocean of trees—lush, deep, and as if it had never been touched by the footsteps of another human. The path they followed was more of a faint whisper between the trees than an actual road.
One month, Li Yuan mused, walking at the front of the convoy, his eyes scanning the canopies that formed a green roof over their heads. One month without seeing another human face besides these seventy souls. It's as if the world has hidden us from civilization, or perhaps... hidden civilization from us.
Behind him, the sounds of life flowed in a familiar harmony—the rhythm of footsteps no longer hurried, whispered conversations no longer filled with worries about the future, the laughter of children who had learned to find joy in simple things like the shape of a cloud or the sound of a bird they had never heard.
They had all changed.
Marcus walked with a steadier gait, though his head still throbbed occasionally. His free hand no longer searched for a hold, but moved with the confidence of a man who had learned that balance comes from within, not from external support. "Yuan," he called out in a deeper voice than before, "deer tracks to the left. Fresh. Must have passed by this morning."
Li Yuan nodded, his heart filled with warm pride. He is no longer a weekend hunter from a peaceful village. He has become a true hunter, who knows that every track is a story, every broken twig a clue.
Beside Marcus, David Miller walked with a careful but determined stride. His once-opened stomach was still sensitive, but his eyes had evolved into those of a gatherer—sharp, vigilant, knowing the difference between a safe and a dangerous leaf with just a glance. "There are edible mushrooms around the roots of that beech tree," he said, pointing. "Three different kinds. I'm sure."
And David, Li Yuan smiled inwardly, who once only knew how to fix a roof, can now read the language of nature like an open book.
The women no longer walked in fear or doubt. Anna strode with the confidence of a mother who had learned that protecting a child is not just about providing walls and a roof, but about teaching them how to survive in a vast world. Lila beside her no longer cowered in fear, but ran from one plant to another, her eyes shining with the curiosity of a student of nature.
"Mama, this is the one Uncle Yuan talked about yesterday, right? The leaves that can be used for wound medicine?" Lila asked, kneeling beside a small bush.
"That's right, sweetheart," Anna answered, kneeling with her. Her hands, which once only knew how to cook with ingredients from the market, could now identify dozens of types of wild plants and how to process them. "But remember, we only take what's enough. Leave the rest to grow."
They understand, Li Yuan felt warmth spread in his chest. They are no longer taking from nature—they are learning to live with nature.
Sarah Miller and Margaret Aldrich walked while carrying woven baskets they had made themselves from twigs and dry grass. The baskets held the day's harvest—edible roots, wild fruits, and leaves for medicine. Their hands, once soft, were now rough with calluses, but their eyes shone with the satisfaction of a provider who had found strength within herself.
"We have very little salt left," Sarah said to Margaret. "But I remember Li Yuan taught us how to preserve meat with smoke and forest herbs."
"And the mushrooms we dried yesterday will last for months," Margaret added. "Who would have thought we could learn all this?"
When the sun reached its peak, they stopped in a small open area of the forest around a clear spring. The water flowed from a rock crevice like a song that never stopped, and around it, the grass grew green and soft.
"We'll camp here for the night," Li Yuan announced, and there were no longer any protests or complaints like in the first weeks. They all knew that Li Yuan's decisions were always based on considerations of their collective safety and comfort.
The men immediately spread out to hunt. Marcus, Robert who could now walk with a stick, James who, though blind, had exceptionally sharp hearing, and some teenagers like Ben Carter whose injured hand had forced him to learn to shoot with his left hand.
Li Yuan watched them with a heart that trembled between pride and worry. They are skilled, but nature is not always kind. Today they might succeed, tomorrow they might come back empty-handed.
And it was true. The day ended with a disappointing result—only a small rabbit and a few fish that James managed to catch with his spear in the river. For seventy people, it was almost nothing.
Failure, Li Yuan mused, looking at the faces that were trying to hide their disappointment. The most difficult part of learning.
But then something happened that made him smile.
Instead of blaming each other or despairing, the small community gathered and began to bring out the women's gathered goods. Anna opened her basket containing sweet roots she had dug from the ground. Sarah showed the dried mushrooms she had collected for several days. Margaret shared the wild fruits that tasted sour but fresh.
"It's okay," Thomas Aldrich said with a genuine smile, even though his stomach was also hungry. "Today nature is teaching us about patience. Tomorrow it might be kinder."
Lila, who was sitting on her mother's lap, asked in a small voice, "Uncle Yuan, will we always be hungry like this?"
Li Yuan looked into the little girl's innocent eyes, and in his serene Zhenjing, he felt a gentle vibration from the seventeen wrapped Understandings. One of them vibrated a little more strongly.
"No, Lila," he answered in a voice as soft as the evening wind. "Sometimes we're hungry, sometimes we're full. Sometimes nature gives a lot, sometimes it asks us to be patient. But what's important is not whether our stomachs are always full—but whether our hearts are always grateful."
"Grateful for what?" Ben Carter asked with a teenager's innocence.
Li Yuan looked around the circle—the faces he had come to love as his own family, the eyes that had learned to find beauty in simplicity, the hands that had become strong from working together.
"Grateful that we are still together," he answered. "Grateful that we can still learn. Grateful that every day teaches us something new about a strength we never knew we had."
That night, they slept with stomachs that were not completely full, but with hearts that were. And in their dreams, they did not dream of the homes they had left behind, but of the endless forest, of the clear spring, and of the family they had chosen to take with them wherever they went.
They are learning, Li Yuan thought, keeping watch under the flickering stars. They are learning that survival is not just about staying alive—but about finding a way to remain a good person even when the world tests the limits of our resilience.
And I... I am learning that teaching without using supernatural power is the most beautiful form of strength. Because what they learn is truly their own—not a gift from me, but their own discovery.
The night wind blew gently through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp soil and wild flowers, and the soft whispers of a new tomorrow full of new possibilities.