A Month passed, and the children's grasp of Yulian steadily improved. Now, they could read basic storybooks, though they still had a long way to go before mastering the language. With over 3,000 core characters and an extended set exceeding 10,000 used in poetry, historical records, and advanced literature, true fluency would take at least two to three years of dedicated study.

  It was a warm afternoon, and Wuji sat beneath the sprawling shade of the old courtyard tree, revising that day's Yulian lesson. Though his memory had sharpened significantly, he refused to grow complacent. In his past life, he had been a renowned scientist, hailed as a genius by his peers. But few understood the relentless hard work and sleepless nights behind his success. He firmly believed that talent alone was not enough—a hardworking ordinary person could surpass an idle genius.

  As he traced invisible characters in the air, committing their strokes to memory, a familiar voice interrupted him.

  “Brother Wuji, what are you doing at this time? Did you forget we’re going to the marketplace today?”

  Mei’s voice brimmed with excitement. She dashed toward him, her short legs barely keeping up with her enthusiasm. Skidding to a stop, she panted heavily, her cheeks flushed from the effort.

  “Get up quickly and freshen up, or Mother won’t take us with her!” she insisted, tugging at his sleeve.

  Wuji blinked, momentarily disoriented, before recalling that after weeks of pleading, Qin Jingwen had finally agreed to take them to the marketplace. The village was peaceful, but like any settlement, it had its dangers. For years, Qin Jingwen had been cautious, refusing to let the children wander far from the safety of the courtyard. But after much convincing, she had relented—with the condition that they must stay close to Zhang Fei, their guardian for the trip.

  Realizing Mei wouldn’t leave him alone, Wuji sighed and stood up. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

  After freshening up and changing into a clean robes, Wuji joined the others at the courtyard gate.

  Qin Jingwen, ever graceful, was dressed in a flowing robe of deep blue, her hair neatly tied with a jade hairpin. Beside her stood Liu Hua, the second caretaker and the orphanage's cook, a woman in her forties with a round face and a warm demeanor. Towering over them was Zhang Fei, a broad-shouldered man with a quiet but imposing presence, his mere existence enough to deter troublemakers.

  Among the children, Mei bounced on her heels, barely containing her excitement. Zhen, ever quiet and observant, adjusted the small satchel tied to his belt, while Jingwei, the eldest among them, stood with his arms crossed, trying to appear more mature than he was.

  With final reminders from Qin Jingwen to stay close and not wander off, the group set off.

  For Wuji, this was the first time stepping beyond the orphanage walls. Though he had glimpsed the village from the rooftop, seeing it up close was a different experience. The roads were dirt paths, the orphanage located on the village outskirts. The surrounding area wasn’t affluent, but neither was it destitute—simple, yet well-kept.

  The journey was quiet, the children taking in their surroundings with wide eyes. After fifteen minutes, they arrived at the Celestial Harmony Marketplace, marked by a grand wooden gate adorned in traditional Chinese architecture, a nameplate hanging prominently.

  The marketplace was alive with color—red and blue ribbons hung from stalls and the entrance gate, fluttering in the breeze.

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  Qin Jingwen smiled. “The market is especially lively today since the Festival of Twin Moons is only a week away.”

  The Festival of Twin Moons was one of the grandest celebrations in the village, held on the 105th day of the year, marking the completion of the Crimson Moon’s cycle. Wuji recalled reading about it in his inherited memories.

  Qin Jingwen turned to the children and Zhang Fei. “Everyone, stay close and don’t wander around, got it?”

  “Yes, Mother.” The children responded in unison.

  The marketplace was a feast for the senses. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat, fresh herbs, and the sharp tang of ink from calligraphy stalls. Merchants called out their wares, their voices blending with the laughter of children weaving through the crowd.

  Stalls lined both sides of the market street, their awnings casting patches of shade over baskets of glistening fruits, rows of handmade pottery, and bundles of fragrant spices tied with twine. At one corner, a baker pulled freshly baked sesame buns from a clay oven, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight.

  “Whoa!” Mei gasped, tugging at Wuji’s sleeve. “Look at that! And that! And—oh! Smell that?”

  Wuji chuckled at her enthusiasm. Even Zhen, usually composed, seemed fascinated by the variety of goods. Meanwhile, Jingwei eyed a stall displaying wooden toys, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to reach out. Seeing him struggle to maintain his “mature” persona was amusing.

  As they followed Qin Jingwen, stopping occasionally to purchase essentials for the orphanage and festival, Wuji’s attention was drawn to a wood artisan’s stall tucked between a blacksmith’s shop and a tea merchant’s stall.

  Intricately carved figurines of animals, miniature houses, and delicate furniture were displayed with meticulous care. Each piece was a testament to patience and skill.

  An elderly man, his face weathered with age, sat behind the stall, using a small chisel to shape a block of wood. Wuji watched, entranced, as the man’s gnarled hands moved with practiced ease, shaving away slivers of wood to reveal a crane in flight. The fine curls of wood fell away like autumn leaves, revealing each delicate feather and the graceful curve of the bird’s neck.

  Fascinated, Wuji couldn’t help but ask, “Sir, how do you make them so detailed?”

  The wood artisan glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling. “Ah, lad, it’s all about patience and knowing the wood.” He held up the carving. “Each piece has its own grain, its own spirit. You just need to listen.”

  Listening to the wood? It was a poetic way to describe craftsmanship. But as a scientist in his past life, Wuji understood—every material had its properties, its own rules.

  As he reached out to touch one of the finished carvings, a new curiosity stirred within him. He didn't know why, but he wanted to learn this craft. To create something beautiful from a simple piece of wood fascinated him. In his past life, his passion had been the pursuit of knowledge—the endless quest to unravel the mysteries of the universe. But over time, passion had become a profession, and then an obligation. He had lived for discovery, but there had been no hobbies, no moments to simply create for the joy of it.

  He had no regrets—his past life had been one of learning, exploration, and discovery. But in this life, he wanted more than just knowledge. He wanted to live.

  Wuji's eyes gleamed with curiosity as he asked, "How can I learn to create such beautiful objects?"

  The old wood artisan paused, studying the eager young boy before him. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he replied, "Patience and practice, lad. There’s no shortcut. Just take up the tools and start working the wood. At first, your hands will fumble, and your carvings will be rough. But with time, they’ll find their form, and the wood will start to listen to you." He tapped a finished piece on his workbench. "That’s the only advice I can give you."

  Wuji nodded, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings around him. A quiet determination settled in his heart as he lost himself in thought, envisioning the day when his own hands could create such wonders.

  A voice broke through his reverie. "Wuji! It’s time to head back to the orphanage."

  Snapping back to reality, he took one last look at the wood artisan and his masterpieces.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden hues over the village, Qin Jingwen gathered the children once more. Their hands filled with small trinkets and snacks—a testament to a day well spent. The trip had been a success, offering them a rare glimpse into the bustling heart of the village—a fleeting moment of joy in their otherwise structured lives.

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