Wu Zhi began to walk further.
No one commanded him. No one forbade him. He simply felt: his legs desired movement.
That morning, he awoke before sunrise. His mother was still asleep inside the tent. His father had left, destination unknown perhaps to the well, perhaps to the desert. Wu Zhi did not know.
He stepped out, carrying a small waterskin made of animal hide. The air was cold. The sky was still gray, not yet blue. He walked, following the line in the earth the boundary between the sand and the grass.
He did not know where he was going. But he kept walking.
The Unfamiliar Track
After walking for a long time, Wu Zhi saw a track on the ground.
The print was large larger than a human's footprint. It was round, with long claws at the tip. The track led towards the desert, then disappeared.
Wu Zhi knelt. He touched the print with his finger. The earth was hard, as if it had long since dried. This track was not new.
He stared at the print for a long time. He thought: who left this behind?
There was no answer.
He stood, following the direction of the track. But after a few steps, the print vanished covered by the shifting sand. Wu Zhi stopped. He stared at the sand ahead of him.
If a trace can disappear, did the one who made it ever truly exist?
He did not know. But he sensed something large, heavy, and alive had passed here.
And now, that something was gone.
The Immovable Stone
Wu Zhi found a large stone in the middle of the desert.
The stone was tall, nearly the size of his body. It was dark gray, its surface rough, covered in small cracks. The stone stood alone there were no other rocks around it. Only sand, wind, and sky.
Wu Zhi approached. He touched the stone with his palm. The surface was warm as if storing the heat of yesterday's sun.
He gazed at the stone.
The stone was silent. It did not move. It did not speak.
Wu Zhi sat next to it. He did not know why, but he felt this stone was like him. Silent. Unsure where to go. Simply standing in place, waiting for something that never arrived.
He closed his eyes. The wind blew softly, touching his face. He heard the sound of shifting sand, the sound of the passing wind, the sound of his own breath.
Then he opened his eyes. The stone was still there. Still silent.
Wu Zhi thought: does this stone ever feel lonely?
No one answered. But he sat there until the sun climbed high.
The Water That Did Not Flow
That afternoon, Wu Zhi found a small puddle of water among the grass.
The water was clear, yet motionless. Like a small mirror that had fallen from the sky. Wu Zhi crouched before it, staring at the reflection of his own face.
His face was indistinct. Pale gray eyes, black hair that fell to cover part of his forehead. He did not know if this face was handsome or plain. He only knew it was his face.
He touched the water with his finger. The reflection shattered, rippled, then stilled again. His face reappeared still the same, still indistinct.
Wu Zhi kept staring. He thought: if this face disappears from the water, do I still have a face?
He did not know.
Then he drank the water. It tasted cold, slightly bitter. After he drank, the puddle diminished it was nearly gone. Wu Zhi stared at the little water that remained.
He felt guilty. As if he had taken something that was not his.
But the water was not angry. It merely remained still.
The Grass That Swayed Alone
Wu Zhi walked again. This time he ventured deeper into the side of the grass where the soil was a little darker, a little damper.
The grass here was taller than what he usually saw. Not extremely tall, but enough to touch his knees. It was a pale green, like the color of the sky before rain.
The wind blew. The grass swayed. Wu Zhi stopped, looking at the grass.
The grass moved like water flowing, waving, then stilling again. There was no sound, only movement.
Wu Zhi sat down amidst the grass. He felt the grass touch his hands, his legs, his face. It felt cool, slightly sharp, but not painful.
He closed his eyes. He felt the wind, felt the grass, felt the earth beneath him.
For the first time, he felt he was not alone. There was life surrounding him. Something that moved, breathed, and was silent without speaking.
But he did not know what it was.
The Sky That Was Too Vast
Evening came. The sky changed color from blue to orange, then pink, then purple.
Wu Zhi lay on the grass, looking up at the sky.
The sky was too vast. It had no end. It had no edge. Only color changing slowly, like something breathing.
Wu Zhi felt a tightness in his chest. Not from pain but because something was too immense to be understood.
He thought: if the sky has no end, where does it go?
He did not know.
He thought again: if I keep walking, will I reach the end of the sky?
No one answered.
He closed his eyes. He felt his body sinking into the earth as if the ground held his body to prevent him from falling into the sky.
Then he fell asleep.
The Indistinct Dream
Wu Zhi dreamed.
In the dream, he stood in the middle of the desert. There were no tents, no people, no grass. Only sand, sky, and wind.
He walked. But no matter how long he walked, the scenery did not change. Sand remained sand. Sky remained sky.
Then he saw a figure in the distance.
The figure stood still, its back to him. Its robe was gray, its black hair long, swaying in the wind.
Wu Zhi wanted to approach. But his feet would not move.
The figure turned around. Its face was not visible only a shadow.
Wu Zhi felt fear. But he could not run.
The figure began to walk closer. Closer, larger. Then the figure stopped in front of Wu Zhi.
Wu Zhi looked up. He saw the eyes gray eyes, deep as an abyss.
Then he woke up.
Return with a Question
Wu Zhi awoke when the sky was dark. The stars had appeared, shining brightly.
He sat up, his breathing fast. The dream was still in his head that figure, those eyes.
He did not know what it meant. But he felt something as if he was being summoned. Something distant, yet also near.
He stood. His body was cold. He walked home, following the line in the earth. There was no light except the stars.
When he reached the tent, his mother was waiting for him outside.
"Where have you been?" his mother asked.
Wu Zhi looked at her. He did not know how to answer.
"I... walked," he said.
His mother stared at him for a long time. Then she said, "Do not go too far. There are things you must not see."
Wu Zhi did not ask what those things were. But he knew his mother was also afraid.
The Quiet Night
Wu Zhi lay down inside the tent. His mother and father were already asleep.
He stared at the tent roof swaying gently. The wind blew from outside, carrying the sound of sand, the sound of grass, the sound of silence.
He thought about the day the vanished track, the silent stone, the unflowing water, the grass that swayed alone, the sky that was too vast.
He looked at everything. But he understood nothing.
Then he thought about the dream the figure, those eyes.
He felt something was coming. Something that would change him.
But he did not know what it was.
He closed his eyes. And slowly, he fell asleep.
The Lingering Question
The next morning, Wu Zhi woke up with a strange feeling.
He felt something was different. But he did not know what.
He stepped out of the tent. The sky was bright. The sun had just risen. The air was warm.
His father was sitting in front of the tent, sharpening a small knife with a stone. He saw Wu Zhi, then said, "You've been lost in thought lately."
Wu Zhi did not reply.
His father looked at him. "Is there something you are looking for?"
Wu Zhi paused. Then he said, "I don't know."
His father smiled faintly. "If you do not know what you are looking for, how will you know when you have found it?"
Wu Zhi looked at his father. The question entered his head, but he could not answer it.
His father returned to sharpening his knife. "Sometimes," he said softly, "the thing we seek will come on its own. We just need to be still and wait."
Wu Zhi looked at the ground. He thought: I have been still. I have been waiting.
But what am I waiting for?
The Unchanging Line
That afternoon, Wu Zhi returned to the line in the earth the boundary between the sand and the grass.
He stood on its center again. One foot on the sand, one foot on the grass.
He closed his eyes. He felt those two worlds the world that moved and the world that was still.
He thought: I am like this line. Neither there, nor here.
Then he opened his eyes. He gazed towards the vast desert.
He felt something was out there. Something waiting for him.
But he was not yet ready to go.
Not yet.
The Deepening Silence
Night came again. Wu Zhi sat outside the tent, watching the stars.
His mother came out, carrying a bowl of warm soup. She sat down next to Wu Zhi, not speaking.
They sat together, silent.
After a long while, his mother said, "You are growing up too quickly."
Wu Zhi looked at her. "What do you mean?"
His mother did not answer directly. She only looked up at the stars, then said, "Children who grow up too quickly... usually leave."
Wu Zhi felt a tightness in his chest again. "I don't want to leave."
His mother smiled faintly. But her smile was sad.
"You say that now," she said softly. "But later, you will know."
Wu Zhi did not ask again. He just sat there, looking at the stars, feeling the silence.
The silence grew deeper. As if something was approaching slowly, without a sound.
Something Nearly Heard
That night, Wu Zhi could not sleep.
He lay with his eyes open, listening to the wind, listening to the sand, listening to his own breath.
Then he heard something a very faint sound. Like a whisper, but indistinct.
He sat up. He listened more deeply.
The sound came from outside. From the desert.
He wanted to go out. But he was afraid.
Then the sound vanished.
Wu Zhi lay down again. He stared at the tent roof.
He thought: something is calling. But I do not yet know who.
He closed his eyes. And slowly, he fell asleep.