Chapter 04: Everything Has a Beginning

As Yi flips through the pages, the evening bell begins to toll for dinner. The journal was engrossing, and he had not realized how much time had passed.
He had already found a section meticulously dedicated to the neighboring village he was to visit. It contained a detailed description, accompanied by a small, hand-drawn map. It also listed essential items to prepare, and what time of day best to travel. Scattered notes and sketches depict various animals, some benign, others foreboding, each accompanied by warnings or advice if one encountered them.
But now his stomach was churning with excitement as scents wafting from the kitchen made their way to the garden. He closes the book, placing the small piece of advice as a marker, and puts it inside the fold of his robe.
Yi inhales deeply, and imagines the dishes served tonight: always there was steamed rice, its grains fluffy and fragrant; easily discernable. Stir-fried vegetables, he could picture an array of vibrant greens, reds, and yellows, each cut with precision and cooked just until tender, retaining their natural crispness and color... was it gai lan and peppers? Clear soup, subtly flavored with garden herbs and a hint of ginger. Also, possibly tofu, silken and soft, absorbing the delicate flavors of soy sauce...and a drop of sesame oil? And perhaps seasoned with nothing more than a touch of salt and a sprinkle of fresh green onions...He salivates at the thought.
His pace quickening out of the garden, anxious to find his seat among the others, he began thinking if the journal had any descriptions of food or recipes as well.
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Yi lets out a sigh, "It's never enough to feel full..." His words trail off as he stretches languidly in the doorway of the sleeping quarters. With a relaxed gait, he ambles over to a lone stool where a half-burnt candle resides in its modest holder. He deftly uses the stubby remnant of his own candle to ignite it, the flicker of the new flame casting a soft glow in the dim space. He extinguishes his own with a pinch at the wick, and after a moment to cool, returns it inside the fold of his robe.
The other monks would need to finish several more chores before retiring, but Yi had an hour or so before any would finish, so he could read a bit more. He realized, looking to place he slept on the floor, that he had never returned his bedroll. He looked at the long shelf and nails protruding orderly on the wall, and then to the area nearly towards the end in the corner: a pair of simple sandals which he made upon his arrival (and did not wear) on the floor, his folded set of clothes he had arrived in (which he had not worn since), and tucked inside them were the few small memories he kept from his home. There was the bag his mother had hand woven him over many months from scraps of cloth she had collected, a small wooden carving of a pig that his older sister had given him, and a small flute that had purportedly belonged to his father. It bore three characters (XXX) - his name.
As Yi's gaze settled on the modest pile of cloth, his first moment alone with these possessions since arriving, a deep sensation began to stir within him. It was a feeling he had faintly sensed before, a subtle hum, but now it resonated like a guzheng string powerfully plucked, its vibration echoing in his heart. Emotions surged within him, and he swiftly closed his eyes, taking a sharp breath in an attempt to quell the rising tide of feelings.
Despite his efforts to suppress it, the more he resisted, the stronger the feeling grew. A heavy realization dawned on him: he had left her alone. This thought brought with it a deep sense of guilt, persistent and heavy. Even in the midst of these emotions, Yi remained resolute in his belief. He was convinced that his true purpose was here, in seeking the answers veiled within the teachings of the Dao.
Yi steadies his breathing and vigorously rubs his face, attempting to regain his composure. Refocusing on the room's floor, he makes an effort to dispel the lingering dread. While it doesn't completely fade away, he finds himself becoming more desensitized to its presence. Drawing the book from his robe, he gives it a thorough once-over. In the dim light of the room, its cover takes on a deep, almost luminescent black. "Such a mysterious aura from something so seemingly lifeless," Yi muses, his intrigue deepening at the book's enigmatic presence.
He wanted to plan his journey more thoroughly, understand how long it would take. He flips open the page where he left the small slip of paper, and continues to take in the information on the animals he may approach.
Scorpions...Snakes...Toads...Centipedes...Spiders...Yi begins to bite down into his lower lip in thought, absent-mindedly reaching for a small pendant tied on a cord around his neck. The small disc made of copper has a hole in the middle and depicts five impossibly small engravings of the Five Poisons.
The journey was estimated to take nearly a day in good weather, and without any encounters with wild beasts. It was advised to depart just before sunrise to ensure arrival while the sun still lingered in the sky. The route to the village was described in detail: descending from the mountain, travel ten li north, then veer west and navigate through a dense forest before reaching the expansive lotus paddies. There were numerous references to landmarks along the way, but the layout of the village itself remained somewhat vague. It was clear that lotus was a staple crop, and intriguingly, the village was said to be nearly encircled by a robust, surging river. "How could that be?" Yi wondered, trying to visualize it. He peered closely at the small map, but the idea of a village almost entirely engulfed by such powerful waters puzzled him. The threat of floods was always a major concern for those living near rivers...
The journey ahead held its own set of challenges, most notably the river encircling the village, accessible only by two hidden footbridges. Finding these bridges was a task so daunting that one traveler had noted in the margins of the journal about spending a night in the cornfields, having arrived too late to find the passage.
Yi weighed the advice scattered through the pages: some suggested using an animal-drawn cart for carrying crops, an option not available to him. A more practical suggestion, and one that piqued Yi's interest, was a long pole with baskets at each end, though it would require careful balancing and regular, cautious stops.
Realizing the physical demands of the journey, Yi felt a spark of excitement. He needed to enhance his strength and endurance, and time was ticking; the colder months were drawing near. Determined, he planned to consult the Head Priest the next day, seeking not just advice but a training plan to prepare him for the adventure ahead. The thought brought a sense of eager anticipation, mingling with a realistic understanding of the challenges he would face.
Shifting on his bedroll, Yi hears the soft footfalls of monks returning to the quarters. He closes the journal, marking his spot, and turns his gaze away from the doorway to the room's lone window. Gazing into the engulfing darkness outside, he shuts his eyes, allowing thoughts of home to comfort him.
But then, in a flash of realization, his eyes fly open. A spark of an idea ignites in his mind. He could visit her after his journey, justifying a day's delay. He envisions bringing her food, sharing stories of his adventures so far. This thought sets Yi's heart racing with excitement. He could ensure she had enough corn to last the winter if he managed to carry more. Energized by this newfound purpose, Yi's mind races with strategies to make it feasible, a plan gradually taking shape.
With his thoughts still racing around about how heavy lotus root was and how quickly he could walk to make up time, the last monk enters the quarters and blows out the candle.