Chapter Ten: The Young Child Enters the Garden, a Loving Father Watches from Afar

On the day I enrolled Yiyi in kindergarten, I was more nervous than when I once tried to break through the Golden Core bottleneck. My palm was slick with sweat as I held her thin identity card. The kindergarten principal was a gentle lady; she looked at Yiyi’s petite form and her clear, innocent eyes, then glanced at me—the overly young “single father”—her gaze filled with kindness.

After a brief exchange and health check, Yiyi was smoothly assigned to the junior class.

On the first day of school, I woke before dawn. I did not meditate or practice cultivation; instead, I quietly entered Yiyi’s room and watched her sleeping face. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting mottled shadows across her cheeks, her long lashes resembling tiny brushes.

This day, I had waited so long for it.

I had prepared a brand-new little backpack for her, with a water bottle and her favorite osmanthus cake inside. I dressed her in the sky-blue “school uniform,” clumsily arranging her hair into two uneven little braids.

“Papa, your hand is shaking,” Yiyi looked up at me, curious.

“Is it?” I smiled. “Maybe… Papa wants to go to school too.”

“Then Papa should go with me!” she said, full of innocence.

I shook my head and took her small hand. “No, that place is a paradise just for children like you. Papa has his own battlefield.”

My battlefield was that humble “Anhe Hall.”

The kindergarten was not far from home, just at the other end of the street. On the way, Yiyi was like a cheerful little bird, filled with curiosity about everything. She pointed at the wagging-tailed dog by the roadside, at the pigeons flying overhead, chattering non-stop.

But as we reached the kindergarten gate, the atmosphere suddenly changed.

The entrance was packed with parents and children. Cries rose and fell, merging into a cacophony. Some children clung desperately to their parents’ legs, refusing to let go, others sobbed until they were out of breath, unmoved by the teachers’ gentle coaxing. The parents’ faces were full of helplessness and reluctance.

This scene of parting frightened Yiyi. Her little hand instinctively tightened around mine, hiding behind me, peeking out timidly at the “chaos” before her.

A young female teacher approached, a badge on her chest reading “Sunflower Class, Teacher Zhang.” She crouched down and spoke to Yiyi in the gentlest voice, “Little one, what’s your name? Welcome to the Sun-flower-Class.”

“I… I’m Jiang Yiyi,” Yiyi whispered.

“Yiyi, what a lovely name.” Teacher Zhang smiled, reaching out her hand. “Look, there are so many fun slides and blocks inside. Would you like to go in and play with the teacher?”

Yiyi looked back at me, her eyes filled with inquiry and dependence.

I crouched to meet her gaze, carefully straightened her collar, and whispered, “Go on, Yiyi. Remember what Papa said—this is your paradise. Make new friends, listen to new stories from the teachers. When school ends, Papa will be the first waiting right here for you.”

I gently placed her small hand from mine into Teacher Zhang’s warm palm.

At that moment, it felt as if something tugged at my heart.

Yiyi, turning back every three steps, let Teacher Zhang lead her through the colorful gate. She didn’t cry, but her clear eyes were full of reluctance toward me.

Even after her figure vanished behind the door, I remained rooted to the spot, unmoving for a long time. The other parents gradually dispersed, leaving me alone, like a statue.

I did not leave.

I crossed to a quiet corner on the opposite side of the street, found a discreet step, and sat down. In the Golden Core stage, my spiritual sense easily let me “see” everything happening inside the kindergarten.

I “saw” Yiyi being led to the classroom. She sat shyly on a small stool, curiously observing her crying classmates.

I “saw” Teacher Zhang produce a singing toy, successfully drawing the children’s attention, and the crying gradually subsided.

I “saw” during games, Yiyi stood awkwardly on the side, unfamiliar with the rules. A robust little boy ran over, took her hand, and pulled her into the group. Yiyi was startled for a moment, then gave a shy smile.

I “saw” at lunch, she clumsily used her little spoon, spilling rice everywhere, but still tried her best to eat all the carrots in her bowl, because Papa had said she mustn’t be picky.

I “saw” at nap time, she hugged her small blanket and soon slipped into dreamland, a sweet smile lingering at the corner of her mouth.

…

And so, I sat at that street corner all day.

Anhe Hall did not open today. My whole world condensed into that tiny campus.

I saw her timidity, her curiosity, her first attempts, her first smile. These trivial, insignificant moments, to me, weighed more than any history, were more profound than any cultivation method.

This was my daughter’s childhood, a brand-new life I had paved for her with my own hands.

When the school bell rang, I was already standing at the kindergarten gate. I was the very first parent to arrive.

The doors opened, and the children burst out like fledgling swallows returning to the nest, full of joy.

“Papa!”

I spotted Yiyi at once in the crowd. She wore her little backpack, running toward me, diving into my arms.

“Papa! I made a new friend today! His name is Stone! We built blocks together! Teacher Zhang praised my drawing of the sun for being round!” She looked up, chattering about her day’s “victories,” her eyes shining with a joy I had never seen before.

I lifted her high, letting her ride on my shoulders, just as fathers of this age do.

“Alright, let’s go home. Yiyi, tell Papa all about the fun things in kindergarten.”

The setting sun stretched our shadows far and long—a tall father and a petite daughter.

I carried the weight of two thousand years, while she embraced her own radiant childhood.

At this moment, I felt even more fulfilled than when I achieved the Golden Core on Penglai Immortal Island.