Chapter Six: Only the Beginning (1/4)

Among the ancient trees lining the stone path, this was one of the few that retained its original appearance. As the seasons changed and the years passed, most of the trees had been replaced, yet when the sun cast its rays, the old tree still stood tall, its roots gnarled and deep, its branches sheltering the earth beneath in a vast shadow. In every autumn, the tree's leaves would fall silently, a natural process that seemed to persist despite the passage of time, as if the tree itself was quietly imparting its knowledge to the world.

How did a tree impart knowledge? In academic terms, this was a metaphor, but the effect was real. To observe a leaf falling at a particular moment, to receive a message supported by a gentle breeze, was to witness the movement of thought, the transformation of one phenomenon into another, and the effect of this transformation was as real as any scientific principle. The falling leaf became a symbol, and its impact was woven into the tapestry of life.

In the campus records, everyone knew about the tree, and it was often referenced in discussions about the interconnectedness of things. One form of expression was to ask whether a falling leaf could be seen as a sign, a question that anyone might ponder in moments of reflection. Another form was to observe that even when the tree stood tall, it was not necessarily powerful; its influence was subtle, but its presence was undeniable.

So, what was the significance of the tree?

The old tree had withstood countless seasons, its bark scarred and its roots entangled with the stones. It had survived many storms and still stood at the corner of the campus, quietly bearing witness to the passage of generations.

The campus records began anew, marking another autumn.

At this moment, Chao spoke.

Only a few steps ahead, she suddenly stopped, lifting her gaze to the old tree’s canopy, where sunlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating her features.

“Teacher, what is the meaning of this tree?” she asked.

Little T hesitated but replied truthfully.

“The teacher’s answer is…”

The teacher smiled softly, her calm demeanor giving way to a gentle warmth. She paused, her gaze lingering on the branches above the gate, then turned back to the path leading to the school, where the students were already gathering.

“Is it really so significant? If so, then time is everything.”

“What is time?” Little T was puzzled, standing by the gate, watching the people passing by, unsure whether to nod or shake her head, uncertain about the meaning of her own existence.

The teacher did not answer immediately, but her expression was serene, as if she was pondering the question herself. The students gathered, and the autumn leaves fluttered down.

Chao watched her own shadow stretch across the campus records, her thoughts drifting as she tried to recall the meaning of time, the knowledge she had learned, and the fragments of memory that had blended together.

She frowned.

The autumn sunlight gleamed on Chao as she smiled faintly, shaking her head. The aura that once surrounded her had faded, replaced by a quiet stillness. Her demeanor had changed, and she no longer sought answers.

“Chao, what are you thinking?”

At this moment, she was lost in thought, her gaze resting on the old tree and the campus path. She was about to leave when a voice called out, and she turned back, her shadow crossing the stone pavement.

It was Little T.

Chao paused, her thoughts returning to the present.

The sunlight streamed through the leaves, warming her face as she lingered by the tree, unable to find a clear answer.

She smiled.

The autumn breeze carried the scent of fallen leaves, and Chao’s shadow lengthened as she walked, her steps echoing Little T’s hesitation. She smiled as she left.

“I need to go to the infirmary. I’ve been feeling unwell lately, and I remember that when I was young, I would go to the park whenever I was sick. Now, I just want to rest for a while.”

“You should take care of yourself,” Little T said, concern evident in her voice.

“Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The question lingered: Why do people remember certain things, and why does the memory of the old tree endure as a symbol of identity? It was a point of value, a certainty quietly accepted.

Someone said, “You should eat more. Your energy is low, and you need to replenish it.” Chao smiled, shaking her head, knowing that she was not interested in food.

To be precise, she was not hungry. Chao smiled gently, observing Little T’s expression.

Originally, as a teacher, Chao would have participated in the campus events, but at this moment, she was content to remain by the old tree, quietly observing the passage of time.

She had always preferred solitude, her thoughts drifting as she watched the leaves fall.

Suddenly, Chao smiled, her eyes lighting up as she recalled her own knowledge, the skills she had acquired, and the memories that remained.

Standing by the gate, she laughed, her smile gentle and calm.

She had not noticed the fragments of leaves scattered on the ground, nor the students gathering nearby.

She sighed.

She had not found the answer, nor had she eaten much, yet the gentle autumn wind brought the old tree’s scent to her, and Little T’s voice echoed in her mind.

The campus records continued.

Who had not pondered the meaning of the old tree? In the quiet moments, every student had reflected on the past, their memories entwined with the present, unable to distinguish the boundary between then and now.

To remember was to kill time.

Chao shook her head, her expression resolute, her gaze unwavering as she faced the old tree. Only a few leaves remained on the branches, yet she could sense her own strength.

The wind blew, scattering the leaves.

Chao had not felt any discomfort, her mind clear and her spirit calm.

Only the autumn sun lingered on the path, the wind blowing gently, as she shook her head, her blood quietly flowing, her hands resting on the stone, her breath steady.

Days passed, and autumn deepened. The students returned to their studies, and the teacher led another lesson, gathering a few fallen leaves.

The teacher said, “You should take care of yourself. If you feel unwell, rest for a while.”

Only a few leaves remained, and the students swept them away. Little T gathered the leaves, her movements gentle and deliberate.

She found them.

Little T had always been sensitive, her thoughts wandering as she swept the leaves, her gaze lingering on the old tree. The wind rustled the branches, and she watched the leaves drift down, feeling a sense of peace.

She needed peace.

Little T smiled, her heart calm, as she swept the leaves away, her movements precise and purposeful.

As long as she could maintain her composure, these moments would become her own, her memories intertwined with the old tree, her presence gentle and enduring.

Chao had not revealed her true thoughts, her gaze lingering on the old tree as she pondered the meaning of life.

The teacher asked, “What projects are you working on this semester?” Chao replied, her voice soft, discussing her studies and her reflections, her gaze attentive.

The campus records continued.

The teacher smiled gently, her words resonating with Chao.

No one spoke further.

Chao was not fond of crowds, nor did she seek recognition.

She was herself.

Was there anything else to say? The teacher noted that Chao preferred solitude, her gestures revealing a quiet strength.

For those who understood, this was enough.

Chao smiled faintly, shaking her head, content to remain in her own world.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a falling leaf, and she turned, her gaze meeting Little T’s.

She smiled.

They understood.

A leaf fell.

It was autumn.

The teacher gathered a few fallen leaves, her hands moving gently, as she placed them in a basket. Originally, the leaves had been scattered, but now they were gathered, the old tree’s memory preserved in Chao’s heart.

She sighed, writing a note.

A student returned the leaves to the teacher, and Chao smiled, her gaze lingering on Little T, both of them content to remain in their world.

They understood.

Chao was not fond of crowds, preferring solitude. She gathered the leaves, her movements precise and gentle.

The teacher smiled, her words resonating in the autumn air.

“Class seven.”

In this moment, it was only the beginning.

The story continued, unfolding gently, the old tree’s memory enduring in the students’ hearts, the campus records marking another autumn.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, and a single leaf fell, the sunlight illuminating its descent, the air shimmering. The teacher paused, her hand lingering on the basket, her gaze solemn.

Then, another leaf fell, its journey ending quietly.

The autumn sun shone, the blood-red leaves glimmered, and time passed, the memories entwined in silence, marked only by the initials DLDLx.