A man and a young girl walked along a narrow valley road on the outskirts of the city, the distant hum of urban life fading behind them.
The man, a scholar of refined appearance, had long, silky black hair, calm blue eyes like a cloudless sky, and pale, unblemished skin untouched by dust. He wore a pristine white hanfu with black strips, its elegance stark against the rugged path. His gaze fixed forward, undisturbed by the world around him. Beside him, the girl walked with a playful air, hands clasped behind her head, chewing a rice stick with carefree energy. Suddenly, she spoke.
"Hey!"
"Hmm?" The scholar's eyes flicked toward her, acknowledging her without breaking his stride.
"In my life, I've seen lots of rich people and scholars," she said, her tone curious but pointed. "They all do the same thing – they look down on the poor, acting superior. Some call the poor disgusting or annoying, others pretend to be kind but use their 'good deeds' to toy with them for amusement. But… you're different. You're a top scholar, one of the richest men around, yet you don't exploit or mistreat the poor. You treat everyone the same, no matter their background or intentions. Why?"
The scholar's face remined calm, as serene as a still ocean. After a brief pause, he rested a hand on his jaw, lost in thought. They walked in silence for a moment, the crunch of their steps filling the air. Then, he spoke, his voice steady and measured.
"I treat all equally not out of kindness or virtue, but because of how I see the world. In my eyes, everyone – rich or poor, living in mansions or crumbling huts – is the same. We are mortals, destined to return to dust, forgotten in time. What use is superiority when death levels us all? Why cling to illusions of power when they mean nothing in the end?"
The scholar's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth, as the little girl tilted her head, her playful demeanor softened. She chewed on her rice stick a bit slower, her eyes narrowing as if trying to unravel the depth of his words. The narrow valley road stretched on, flanked by whispering grasses and the distant hum of the city fading behind them.
"Your perspective's kinda… grim, don't you think?" she said, kicking a pebble with her sandal. "If everyone's just gonna turn to dust, why bother being kind at all? Why not just do whatever you want?"
The scholar's calm blue eyes flickered with a faint spark, like sunlight catching a still lake. He slowed his pace, the black strips of his hanfu swaying gently in the breeze.
"Kindness isn't about escaping the dust," he said, his voice steady, almost melodic. "It's about walking the path of clarity. If all are equal in the end, then cruelty or superiority only clouds the mind, not elevates it. I choose what keeps my heart unburdened."
The girl puffed out her cheeks, clearly unsatisfied. "So, you're saying you're nice just to feel… unburdened? That's it?"
He chuckled softly, a rare sound that seemed to blend with the rustling leaves. "Not quite. It's not about feeling good. It's about seeing clearly. When you see all as equal – rich, poor, kind, cruel – you stop wasting energy on illusions of power. You live in truth. And truth is…" He paused, glancing at the horizon where the valley dipped into shadow. "Truth is freeing."
The girl stopped walking, her hands dropping from behind her head. She stared at him, her young mind grappling with the weight of his words. "You're weird, you know that? Most people don't think like that."
"Most people don't look at the dust," he replied, his gaze returning to the path ahead. "They look at gold, at titles, at fleeting things and I prefer the long view."
They continued walking, the girl now quieter, her rice stick forgotten in her hand. The valley road seemed to stretch endlessly before them, a silent witness to their conversation, as the scholar's white hanfu glowed faintly under the fading light, untouched by the dust of the world.
The valley road wound deeper into the shadows, the air growing cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft purple haze over the land scape. The scholar and the girl walked on, their steps in quiet rhythm, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet mingling with the faint chirping of evening crickets. The girl, still clutching her rice stick, now nibbled at it absentmindedly, her brow furrowed as she mulled over the scholar's words.
"You talk about the truth like it's something you can hold," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the twilight stillness. "But what if the truth isn't freeing? What if it's heavy? What if it hurts?"
The scholar's lips curved into faint, almost imperceptible smile, as if he'd anticipated the question. He glanced at her, his blue eyes catching the last glimmers of the daylight. "Truth can hurt," he admitted, his tone steady as ever. "It's a blade that cuts through illusions, and illusions are comfortable. But the pain of truth is brief, like a wound that heals clean. Lies, though – they fester."
The girl kicked another pebble, harder this time, sending it skittering into the grass. "Easy for you to say. You're a scholar, all high and mighty with your fancy hanfu and big ideas. You don't know what it's like to be hungry or scared or stuck in the dirt with no way out."
For the first time, a flicker of something – perhaps sadness. Perhaps recognition – passed over scholar's face He stopped walking, his white robes settling around him like a pool of moonlight. He turned to face her fully, his gaze gentle but piercing.
"You think I was born in silk?" he asked quietly. "I was not. The diet you speak of – I know it well. Hunger, fear, the weight of a world that cares little for you… I've carried them all."
The girl blinked, caught off guard. Her hands fell to her sides, the rice stick nearly slipped from her fingers. "You? But you're… you're YOU. Rich, respected, untouchable."
"Untouchable?" He chuckled, the sound low and warm, but tinged with something bittersweet. "No one is untouchable. I clawed my way out of dirt, child, not with gold or titles, but with the questions. I asked why the world was as it was. I asked why people suffered. I asked what lay beyond the illusions of power and wealth. And the answers led me here – to this road, to this moment, to you."
The girl stared at him, her young face a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "So, what? You're saying anyone can do that? Just… ask question and get free?"
"Not free." He corrected, resuming his walk, his voice drifting back to her. "Clarity. Freedom is another illusion, one that tricks people into chasing what they cannot hold. Clarity, though – that's real. It's the light that shows you the path, even when it's narrow and rough."
They walked in silence for a while, the valley deepening around them, the stars beginning to prick through the indigo sky. The girl's steps were slower now, her playful energy replaced by a quite intensity. She glanced at the scholar, his pristine hanfu glowing faintly glowing faintly in the starlight, and then at the road ahead, where shadows pooled like ink.
"Alright, scholar," she said at last, her voice softer but resolute. "If truth's great, teach me how to find it. I want to see what you see."
He didn't turn to look at her, but his voice carried a warmth that hadn't been there before. "You already are, child. You're asking questions. That's where it begins."
A sudden rustle in the grass broke the moment. The scholar's hand moved to the moment. The scholar's hand moved to hilt of a small, concealed dagger at his waist, his calm demeanor sharping into alertness. The girl froze, her eyes wide, scanning the darkness. From darkness shadows emerged a figure – a ragged man, his clothes tattered, his face gaunt but his eyes glinting with desperation.
"Scholar," the man rasped, stepping onto the path, a crude knife trembling in his hand. "Your robes, your coin – hand them over. I don't want to hurt you, but I will."
The girl shrunk back, clutching her rice stick like a talisman. The scholar, however, stood unmoved, his blue eyes studying the man as if he were a page in a book. The air grew heavy, the valley road holding its breath.