The river flows, always changing, Baba always said. But some changes, like the loss of our land, feel like a betrayal.

Our family has farmed this land for generations, each harvest feeding the village. Now, the river wants to take it all back.

Baba says we must accept what comes, but I can't. I owe it to him, to my ancestors, to find a way.

The elders spoke of ancient techniques to stabilize the banks, forgotten with time. But where do I even begin to search?

A crumpled map, tucked away in Baba's old journals, hinted at something near the old temple ruins. Could this be it?

The ruins, overgrown and forgotten, held the key: a system of interwoven bamboo and earth to hold the river at bay.

It wasn't just about stopping the river, but understanding it, working with its flow. Baba knew, even when he seemed resigned.

The river still flows, still changes. But now, it flows with us, not against us. I understand now. Inheritance isn't just land.

It is wisdom, resilience, and the spirit to protect what matters. That is the true legacy.