A week later, Li Yuan heard his own voice on the streets.
Not his actual voice—
but an echo that had been reshaped,
like a reflection on rippling water.
"...a specialized service method that creates a positive psychological atmosphere..."
"...an ancient technique, almost forgotten, combining micro-attentiveness with..."
"...court scholars are studying it. They say it can be applied elsewhere..."
Li Yuan stopped in the middle of the road toward the noodle shop.
Around him, morning vendors began setting up their stalls.
But he didn't move.
He stood like a stone in the middle of a stream, letting the sounds flow around him.
It has begun.
—
In the shop, the change was already in the air.
Bao Jing looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"Li Yuan… something's strange today."
"Strange how?"
"Since morning, seven people have come asking about… about you."
Bao Jing scratched his head.
"They didn't order noodles. They just sat, watched you work, then left—writing things down."
Li Yuan placed the cleaning cloth in its place.
"Where are they now?"
"They're gone. But…"
Bao Jing hesitated.
"One of them said they wanted to 'study the art of transformative service.' I don't even know what that means."
Li Yuan understood.
He understood all too well.
—
The first customer that day arrived with a different kind of intent.
A well-dressed middle-aged woman, carrying a small notebook.
She sat at the same table Chen Weiqi had chosen a week ago—the one with the clearest view of the entire shop.
Li Yuan approached her with a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth, as always.
Her eyes lit up at the sight.
"Ah, here it is! Warm water for hand washing—just like Scholar Chen described!"
Li Yuan remained silent.
"May I ask," she continued, "what is the philosophy behind this service? Is it rooted in sensory empathy theory, or is it more a form of psychological conditioning?"
Li Yuan tasted bitterness in his mouth.
Like water left too long in a metal container.
"Just warm water," he answered softly.
She gave a polite laugh.
"Of course you wouldn't give away the secret so easily. Chen-xiong warned me you were… what did he say… 'subtle in your approach.'"
She opened her notebook and began to write, glancing at him between lines.
—
Throughout the day, they came.
A young merchant trying to imitate the way Li Yuan walked—slow and calm—but ending up looking like he had a stomachache.
A tea shop owner asking if Li Yuan sold a "special warm water formula."
Two junior scholars whispering in the corner, pointing at Li Yuan every time he served another customer.
And the most painful of all:
A young man who introduced himself as Li Yuan's "disciple"—even though Li Yuan had never accepted any disciples.
"Master," the young man said, voice deep and solemn,
"please teach us the Art of Silence that Brings Change."
Li Yuan stared at him for a long time.
The young man waited, eyes glowing,
as if ready to receive the wisdom that would transform his life.
"I'm not a master," Li Yuan said at last.
"And I teach no art."
The young man nodded as if he understood.
"Ah, yes. Humility is part of the teaching. I understand, Master."
Li Yuan turned and walked away.
The young man noted down the reaction in his little book.
—
That evening, as the shop began to quiet down, Mr. Cheng approached Li Yuan.
"What's all this?" he asked in a low voice.
"My shop's starting to feel like… like a tourist attraction."
Li Yuan didn't know how to answer.
How do you explain that truth is being killed by attention?
That understanding is being strangled by interpretation?
"They're searching for something that isn't there," Li Yuan finally said.
Mr. Cheng frowned.
"Then why do they keep coming?"
"Because they believe it's there."
—
That night, Li Yuan didn't go home immediately.
He wandered the quieting streets of Qinlu,
listening to scattered conversations in the evening shops.
"...that noodle shop at the end of Bamboo Street—apparently there's a server who can..."
"...Chen Weiqi from the Imperial Academy is writing a paper on it..."
"...ancient technique for creating a calm aura, the method is…"
Each step took him farther from home,
but closer to a realization he had never wanted.
The name "Li Yuan" had begun to circulate.
But not the true Li Yuan.
Only the version built from interpretation, speculation,
and the desire to possess something extraordinary.
—
At a small tea shop, he overheard a conversation that made him stop.
"I tried," said a man, frustrated.
"I offered warm water, I spoke gently, I even mimicked the way he walked. But nothing changed."
"Maybe it's spiritual," his friend replied.
"Or maybe he has a special bloodline. Not everyone can do it."
"Or maybe the whole story's exaggerated. You know how rumors grow in Qinlu."
Li Yuan sat in a corner seat, ordered warm tea, and listened.
They spoke of the "noodle shop phenomenon,"
of the "mysterious server,"
of a "lost technique."
No one spoke of water that simply wanted to flow.
No one spoke of presence that asked for nothing.
No one spoke of empty space that gave others room to breathe.
—
When Li Yuan finally returned home,
he found a letter slipped beneath his door.
Elegant handwriting. Fine ink.
Li Yuan-xiong,
I am Chen Weiqi. I apologize for any disturbance that may have arisen recently.
It was never my intention to complicate your life.
However, what has been set in motion cannot be reversed.
Interest in your "phenomenon" has spread beyond academic circles.
Some are trying to replicate it. Others are teaching their own interpretations.
I worry that the true understanding will be buried beneath shallow interpretations.
May we meet? There is something I wish to discuss with you.
—Respectfully,
Chen Weiqi
P.S. If you are willing, come to the Moon-Silent Pavilion in the Palace Garden tomorrow afternoon.
It is… a quieter place to speak.
Li Yuan placed the letter on the small table.
Chen Weiqi feared that true understanding might be lost.
But Chen Weiqi did not understand—
True understanding cannot be lost.
What can be lost is the tranquility where understanding grows.
What can vanish is the empty space where others discover themselves.
What can be damaged is the quiet existence that never asked to be noticed.
—
Li Yuan sat at the edge of his bed,
staring at the letter in the flickering candlelight.
Outside the window, Qinlu still lived, full of nighttime sounds.
But those sounds now felt different—
Like wind carrying a name that wasn't his.
Like water forced to flow where it did not wish to go.
Like silence forced to speak with a tongue it did not recognize.
Li Yuan blew out the candle.
In the darkness, he made a decision.
Tomorrow, he would meet Chen Weiqi.
Not to explain.
Not to teach.
But to do something he had never thought would be necessary—
To stop.
To stop the spread of something he never began.
To stop the interpretation of a truth he never claimed.
To stop his transformation into a legend he never wanted to become.
—
That night, for the first time in his life,
Li Yuan understood why some waters choose to flow underground.
Not because they fear the light—
But because some journeys can only be taken
in perfect silence.
A silence that can never be heard by ears that seek sound.
A silence that can never be understood by eyes that seek form.
A silence that can only be felt
by those who do not come to take—
but to give space
for something greater than themselves.
—
Tomorrow, the spread would end.
Or Li Yuan would leave Qinlu.
Existence cannot be forced.
But it also need not remain
in a place that no longer gives room
to simply exist.