Li Yuan sat in the silence of his cramped room.
Not meditating. Not reflecting. Just sitting—like a stone that had found its place at the bottom of a river, letting the water flow over it without resistance.
But tonight, the water carried a question he had never faced before.
Am I willing to release my understanding to resolve this issue?
Chen Weiqi's letter lay on the table, its ink long dried, yet its words still echoed in the silent room.
"Interest in your 'phenomenon' has spread..."
"Some have begun to imitate..."
"True understanding will be drowned..."
Li Yuan stared at the letter without truly reading it. His grey eyes looked through the paper, seeing something deeper than the words.
He saw a truth he didn't want to admit.
His Passive Ganjing could not be turned off.
He had known this since the first time he understood water. Every understanding etched into his Zhenjing would "leak" outward, influencing the world without intent, without technique, without effort.
Water flows situations into harmony.
Silence creates space for reflection.
Presence gives others room to breathe.
This was not a power he could control. Not a skill he could activate or deactivate at will.
It was the resonance of his being.
Like a flower that cannot choose whether to be fragrant. Like fire that cannot decide whether to give warmth.
Like water that never asks whether it wants to flow.
Li Yuan stood and walked to the small window.
Outside, Qinlu still lived under the lights of the night. Oil lanterns hung like stars fallen to earth, illuminating the streets where his name was now spoken with various interpretations.
"A technique of transformative service."
"An art of silence that brings change."
"A rare spiritual phenomenon."
None understood that what they sought was something that could not be sought.
None realized that the effect they wished to replicate was the result of not wanting to create any effect at all.
Am I willing to release my understanding?
The question returned, sharper than before.
Li Yuan knew he could do it. In theory. The Daojing was not a binding path—it was a path of liberation. If Li Yuan chose to release his understandings, to return to being an ordinary man without spiritual resonance...
The problem would vanish.
The noodle shop would become just another noodle shop. People would stop coming in search of a phenomenon that didn't exist. Chen Weiqi would lose his subject of study. Misinterpretations would wither on their own.
Li Yuan would be free.
But...
Li Yuan closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the Zhenjing that lived within his chest.
Water still flowed there—clear, calm, eternal. Never asking to be recognized, never demanding to be understood, but always present when needed.
Silence still stretched like a sky without clouds—vast, deep, filled with a peace that words could never explain.
Emptiness still embraced all things gently, teaching that void does not mean absence, but rather fullness of possibility.
Fear still stood at the threshold, not threatening, merely reminding that true depth begins with the courage to face the unknown.
And the new Presence—an empty space that gave room for all else to be, without condition, without judgment, without demand.
Could I give all this up?
Technically, yes.
But would that make me a better person? Would that serve the world more fully?
Or would that be surrendering to fear—the fear that truth cannot survive interpretation? The fear that understanding is not strong enough to protect itself?
Li Yuan opened his eyes.
Outside the window, an old woman walked slowly down the quiet street. Her steps were heavy, her shoulders stooped. Perhaps she had just returned from caring for a sick grandchild. Perhaps she had just lost someone she loved. Perhaps she was simply weary from a life that never seemed to lighten.
Li Yuan watched her until she disappeared around a corner.
And he understood something he had not realized before.
Passive Ganjing is not about me.
All this time, he had thought of the issue of interpretation and distortion as something that was happening to him. Something that disrupted his life. Something that made his presence complicated.
But in truth, the Passive Ganjing had never been about Li Yuan.
It was about the old woman walking alone on a silent night, who might feel a little more at peace if she happened to pass by where Li Yuan was.
It was about the children who didn't cry in the noodle shop, who for a moment felt the world was a safe place.
It was about the customers who lingered longer, who unknowingly found space to breathe amid the sharp and crowded life of Qinlu.
It was about all the people who didn't know they needed silence—until they found it.
If I release the understanding, who will lose?
Not Li Yuan. Li Yuan would be fine. He could live as an ordinary server, working quietly, undisturbed by unwanted attention.
But the old woman on that night street? The children who found peace without knowing why? The people who came burdened and left with lighter steps?
They would be the ones who lost.
And they wouldn't even know what they had lost.
**
Li Yuan returned to his seat.
Chen Weiqi's letter still lay on the table, awaiting a decision.
But now Li Yuan knew what he must do.
He would not release the understanding.
Not because he feared losing power. Not because he was proud of his spiritual attainment.
But because the understanding had never been his to release.
The understanding was a gift given through him.
Water does not flow for Li Yuan—water flows through Li Yuan to those who need it.
Silence does not exist for Li Yuan—silence exists through Li Yuan for those who need a place to rest.
Presence does not arise for Li Yuan—presence arises through Li Yuan for those seeking space to breathe.
Then what should I do about the matter of interpretation?
Li Yuan looked at the letter again.
Chen Weiqi feared that true understanding would drown beneath shallow interpretations.
But Chen Weiqi was wrong.
True understanding cannot drown. Water always finds a way to flow, even if its surface is covered in debris. Silence always remains, even if surrounded by noise. Presence always exists, even when misunderstood by a thousand interpretations.
What needs protection is not the understanding itself.
What needs protection is access to that understanding.
Li Yuan picked up a brush and ink.
On the back of Chen Weiqi's letter, he wrote in simple script:
"Brother Chen,
I'll come to the Pavilion of Quiet Moon tomorrow afternoon.
But not to explain.
Not to teach.
Only to show something that may help.
Water does not stop flowing because someone tries to measure it.
But it may need to find a different path.
Li Yuan."
Li Yuan set the brush down and looked at what he had written.
Tomorrow, he would meet Chen Weiqi. But not to stop interpretations—interpretations would always arise as long as people tried to understand without experiencing.
He would show something different.
He would show how truth could continue to flow even when its surface was muddied by mistaken words.
He would show how Passive Ganjing could still function even when misunderstood.
He would show how true wrapping worked—not by hiding the truth, but by giving it so many forms that those looking for formulas would get lost in the possibilities, while those who truly needed it would find what they were seeking.
**
Li Yuan blew out the candle.
In the darkness, he felt his Zhenjing move slowly—not anxious, not hurried, just flowing like water that had found its new path.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But that change would not be about stopping or starting.
That change would be about letting water find a new way to flow.
Letting silence find new space to speak without words.
Letting presence find a new form to be—without needing to be understood.
**
Passive Ganjing would continue to work.
Because that is the nature of true understanding—it cannot be turned off, cannot be stopped, cannot be let go.
It can only... flow to where it is needed.
And tomorrow, Li Yuan would ensure that the flow found the right channel.
A channel that protected those in need from those who only wanted to possess.
A channel that offered truth in a form that could not be commercialized.
A channel that allowed water to keep flowing, even when everyone was busy arguing about how to measure the river's depth.