Chen Weiqi returned.
This time, he was not alone.
Li Yuan recognized the signs before they entered—the sound of leather sandals on stone streets, conversations too hushed to be heard yet too intense to ignore, the scent of ink and paper that clung to those who lived among books.
Three people.
Chen Weiqi in front, two young scholars behind.
Their robes were dark blue, just like Chen Weiqi's, but their eyes were different—sharp in a different way.
Not sharp like glass reflecting light, but sharp like knives wanting to cut.
—
"Li Yuan," greeted Chen Weiqi, his tone more formal than before.
Li Yuan nodded.
He was arranging clean bowls on a wooden rack, his hands moving slowly, even as he felt an unusual attention settle on him.
"May we sit?"
"Please."
The three scholars chose a table in the corner, where they could observe the entire shop without obstruction.
Chen Weiqi sat facing Li Yuan.
The other two sat like witnesses in a trial that had not yet begun.
—
Li Yuan approached with warm water and a clean cloth, as usual.
One of the young scholars—the one with a thin face and sharp eyes—looked at the bowl with a strange expression.
"Why warm water?" he asked. Not to Li Yuan, but to Chen Weiqi.
"That is what we intend to understand," replied Chen Weiqi.
Li Yuan sensed something unpleasant in the air.
Not a threat.
More like... an inspection.
As if he were a book being dissected word by word.
"We'll have three chicken noodle bowls," said Chen Weiqi.
Li Yuan nodded and walked to the back.
—
As Li Yuan retrieved the orders in the kitchen, he heard murmurs from the corner table.
"...utterly unusual. Look how the other customers react..."
"...perhaps just a simple psychological technique. Making people feel noticed..."
"...but the effect is too consistent. Too... natural..."
"...Chen-xiong is right. There's a pattern here that needs to be understood..."
Li Yuan paused.
His hands still arranging bowls on a tray, but his ears caught every word.
They didn't come to eat.
They came to understand.
And in the way they sought understanding, Li Yuan sensed a danger he had never faced before.
—
When Li Yuan returned with the food, the conversation stopped.
The three scholars looked at him in a way unlike other customers.
Not at him—but through him, as if searching for something hidden behind.
"Li Yuan," said Chen Weiqi once the last bowl was placed. "My friends would like to ask you a few things."
Li Yuan did not reply, but neither did he walk away.
The thin-faced scholar spoke.
"My name is Zhao Ping. I study patterns of human behavior." His voice was official, like reading a report.
"Chen-xiong told us about... a phenomenon in this shop. We wanted to observe it firsthand."
The second scholar added, "I'm Liu Shan. My field is practical philosophy. What you call 'silence that brings change'—that's fascinating from the perspective of social influence theory."
Li Yuan felt a coldness creep through his chest.
They weren't seeing him.
They were seeing a phenomenon.
They didn't want to know Li Yuan—they wanted to know what Li Yuan did.
"I'm just a server," Li Yuan said softly.
Zhao Ping gave a thin smile.
"No server turns an ordinary noodle shop into... this."
"Into what?"
"Into a place that changes people," Liu Shan replied.
"A space with psychological influence, absent of clear stimuli. A very rare phenomenon."
—
Li Yuan stood still.
Around him, the noodle shop continued as usual.
Bao Jing stirred broth, Mr. Cheng counted coins.
Other customers ate in their familiar silence—not a silence that judged, but one that gave space.
But at the corner table, six eyes kept watching.
Recording.
Analyzing.
And for the first time, Li Yuan understood why understanding must be wrapped.
Not to hide it from those who need it—
But to protect it from those who want to possess it.
—
"May I ask something?" Li Yuan finally said.
Chen Weiqi nodded.
"Why do you want to understand this?"
A simple question.
But the three scholars fell silent for a moment.
Liu Shan answered first.
"Knowledge is a duty. If there's a phenomenon to be studied, we must study it."
"For what purpose?"
Zhao Ping furrowed his brow.
"For... for progress. To understand how the mind works. How environments shape behavior."
"And after you understand?"
Chen Weiqi answered, his voice softer.
"After we understand... we can teach it. Share it. Create more places like this."
Li Yuan looked at them one by one.
And he saw good intentions in their eyes.
They truly wanted to help.
They sincerely wished to share what they believed to be good.
But they did not understand one thing:
Understanding cannot be reproduced.
—
"What do you see here?" asked Li Yuan.
"Calm," Zhao Ping replied quickly.
"A positive influence on customer behavior. A service technique that creates atmosphere..."
Li Yuan shook his head slowly.
"What you see is an interpretation. You see effects, and try to explain causes. But you do not see what is actually happening."
"Then what is actually happening?" Liu Shan asked, his tone slightly challenging.
Li Yuan was silent for a long time.
How could he explain Existence to those searching for technique?
How could he describe emptiness to those who wanted to fill it with theory?
"Nothing is happening," Li Yuan finally said. "That's the problem."
—
The three scholars exchanged glances.
Chen Weiqi frowned. "Li Yuan, we don't understand."
"I know," said Li Yuan. "That's why you cannot study this."
He turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving the three scholars whispering with renewed intensity.
—
In the small kitchen, Li Yuan stood still.
Bao Jing glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"
Li Yuan shook his head.
But within his chest, he felt something he had never felt before.
Not fear.
Fear had long been his companion, a teacher of depth.
This was something else.
Something more complicated.
Concern.
Not for himself.
But for the understanding he had received.
For the emptiness that was now being watched by eyes that wanted to measure, weigh, and categorize.
Water cannot be forced to flow uphill.
Silence cannot be taught through words.
Existence cannot be reproduced through technique.
But how do you explain that to those who live from explanations?
—
When Li Yuan returned to the main room, the three scholars were still at the corner table.
But they were no longer watching him.
They were observing other customers.
Taking notes on how an old man drank tea more slowly than usual.
How a young mother smiled for no apparent reason.
How a merchant who was normally in a rush now sat calmly, staring out the window.
And Li Yuan understood.
They were collecting evidence.
Evidence for a theory they would build.
A theory of the "Li Yuan phenomenon" or "transformational service technique" or whatever name they would give it.
And one day, they would teach that theory to others—
Who would not grasp the essence.
Who would only mimic the surface.
Who would create false versions of something that could never be imitated.
—
That evening, after the scholars had left with their notebooks, Li Yuan sat alone in the quieting shop.
The wind entered through the window cracks, carrying the scent of Qinlu dust and distant sounds from lives still unfolding.
But Li Yuan did not hear those sounds.
He heard only the echo of an unanswered question:
How do you protect truth from those who want to possess it?
The understanding of Existence was still warm within his Zhenjing.
Still pure. Still whole.
But for how long?
And for the first time since understanding water, Li Yuan felt something he had never considered before:
Perhaps some truths should not be shared.
Not out of greed.
But because in the act of sharing—especially forced sharing—that truth might lose its soul.
Like a flower plucked for study, only to wilt before its secret is revealed.
Like water contained in vessels, losing its ability to flow.
Like silence forced to speak, turning into structured noise.
Li Yuan closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, Chen Weiqi would return.
With more questions, more notes, more theories.
And Li Yuan would have to decide:
To fight with explanations that would be misunderstood—
Or to protect, in a way he had never yet learned.
A wrapping that did not merely conceal—
But that diverted attention from the truth,
Toward something else.
Something safe to analyze.
Something that would not lose its soul, even when dissected.
—
Night fell on Qinlu.
And for the first time, Li Yuan began to understand
Why some teachers chose the quiet path.
Not because they did not want to share.
But because they knew:
Some gifts can only be received—
Never taken.