After months of walking, passing village after village, Li Yuan finally arrived at the capital.
In every village he passed, the Ganjing within him remained awake.He never summoned it. Never stirred it.But Ganjing was not something to be silenced.It lived—like a lake that reflects the sky, even when no one is looking.
Li Yuan wrapped it carefully.
Not to hide it,but to prevent it from dripping into a world not yet ready to be touched.
He had learned:a depth of understanding, when shown too soon, could disturb those who only wished to live simply.
So he covered himself in stillness.Not by erasing what he understood,but by cloaking it—like morning mist over calm rice fields.
At last, the capital stood before his steps.
Its walls rose higher than any he had seen.The gate was carved from ancient stones, worn by time.In the distance, rooftops stacked like waves,and the roar of human voices surged like a river that would not be dammed.
This city...was larger than Wuyin.Denser. Sharper. Hungrier.
Li Yuan paused before the gate.
He wasn't in a rush.He simply stood there,allowing the city's breath to touch his skin.
People passed him by:merchants, peddlers, wanderers, and guards.But one by one, their eyes flicked toward him—even if just for a heartbeat.
There was something about this figurethat could not be explained with logic.
His black robe was plain, unadorned.
But his eyes…grey like untouched fog.Like a silent, endless depth.
His face was handsome—not from symmetry or light,but because his silence carried something nameless.
People did not know who he was.But their bodies knew:this was not an ordinary man.
Li Yuan entered the capital without a sound.
The Ganjing within him still pulsed softly—passive, yet ever-present.
He kept it wrapped gently,as though calming water that threatened to overflow.
The outer world, full of noise, remained unaware.
But in his inner world,an echo began to stir.
"I didn't come to change the world,"he thought."I only wish to understand it."
And in this city full of sound,he searched—for space to be silent.
He stepped through the stone gate.Beyond it lay a sight he had never seen before.
Qinlu.
That was the city's name.But a name was merely a sound—a label born from human tonguesfor a place that could never be fully captured by words.
Li Yuan stood briefly at the roadside,allowing the city's commotion to brush against himlike a wind carrying foreign scents.
People passed like shadows with purpose.Carts bore spices, cloth, and deep violet metal stoneshe had never seen before.Guards stood at every corner,hands always close to their swords.In the distance, a tall watchtower pierced the sky like a spear.
A tea vendor, seated beside a small cart, called out to him.
"Wanderer, where do you come from?"
Li Yuan offered a faint smile.
"From a place that does not know names."
The tea seller chuckled.
"Then you've reached Qinlu—the heart of the Qin State."
"The Qin State?" Li Yuan asked, still calm.
"An old country that survives only because it doesn't know how to die," the man replied."Ten years ago, we went to war.Enemies came from three directions.The sky turned black, rivers changed course, and the land forgot its seasons."
He poured the tea, steam rising gently.
"Now… it's not peace.Just silence we've agreed upon.They call it a truce.But everyone knows—the blades have never been sheathed."
Li Yuan accepted a cup.He didn't drink it.He only felt its warmth against his palms.
"Does everyone here know how to fight?" he asked.
"Here," said the tea seller,"children learn to kick before they learn to write.They aren't taught to win,but to never be forgotten."
Li Yuan gazed into the distance.
Beyond the crowd,he sensed a power held back—like steam in a sealed pot.
The steps of martial artists left no sound,but the wind remembered them.
Behind the merchants' smiles,eyes measured—not price, but ability.
"In a place like this," he thought,"power isn't for protection—it's for survival."
He asked again,
"How far does their martial art go?"
The tea seller replied,
"The strongest… they say they can turn a forest to ash.One slash, and the trees fall like grass trembling before wind.But—"
He looked into Li Yuan's eyes.
"—more terrifying than powerare those who never need to use it.Those who are silent,but whose steps the entire city avoids."
Li Yuan said nothing.
He bowed in thanks and continued walking.
Qinlu was not a city built on stone,but on stories never told.
Its walls rose tall—but within, they cracked.There was grace on its surface,but its wounds pulsed quietly underneath.
The Ganjing within Li Yuan responded.
A faint ripple stirred inside him:the still footsteps of a swordsman meditating atop a restaurant,the deep breath of an old woman sweeping her front steps,the tap of fingers on a zither by a youth with closed eyes.
Each was an understanding.Each, a message.
But Li Yuan merely observed.
He did not disturb.
He knew—like water—understanding comes best when not sought.
Evening neared.The sky burned orange like paper slowly set aflame.
Li Yuan walked through a market beginning to empty.
In a quiet corner,a child stared at him.
The child said nothing.But his eyes asked a question.
"What do you see in me?" Li Yuan wondered.
Perhaps it was his eyes—grey, like a bottomless gorge.
Or his face—young and calm,but carrying a shadow that couldn't be named.
Or maybe,the child saw someone who wasn't trying to be anyone at all.
Night fell. Oil lamps flickered to life.
Li Yuan rented a small room on the city's edge.It was a quiet place, with a shallow pond reflecting the moon.
He sat there.
Not meditating.Not thinking.
Just sitting.
He recalled the long journey:the dark cave,the phosphorescent stone,a hundred years within his inner world,and the truth that there had been no ascension—no sudden enlightenment—only repetition, refinement, and sharpening.
And now, this city.
Qinlu, a place louder than noise.
Where power hides behind a smile,and strength walks in silence.
"What am I looking for here?" he asked.
There was no answer.
But the water in the pond rippled softly.
And that was enough.