The Pavilion of the Quiet Moon was not as beautiful as its name.
An old wooden structure standing at the corner of the Imperial Garden, its paint peeling, its tiles overgrown with moss. Like a place that was once important, now forgotten by time and the clamor of the grander palace nearby.
Li Yuan arrived as the sun leaned westward. Golden afternoon light filtered through the willow trees surrounding the pavilion, casting slow-moving shadows that danced like water.
Chen Weiqi was already waiting.
He sat on a stone bench facing a small pond. His back was straight, but something in his posture was different from their previous meetings. He looked... tired. Or perhaps burdened.
"Li Yuan," Chen Weiqi greeted without turning as he heard footsteps behind him.
Li Yuan approached and sat at the far end of the same bench, leaving enough space to speak without feeling crowded.
"Thank you for coming."
Li Yuan nodded. His eyes rested on the surface of the still pond, where small fish occasionally rose to breathe, sending out ripples that spread gently.
"Do you know why I chose this place?" Chen Weiqi asked.
"Because it's quiet."
Chen Weiqi gave a faint smile. "Partly true. But there's another reason." He pointed toward the rickety pavilion. "This used to be the study chamber of the third emperor of the Qin Dynasty. He came here to reflect on great decisions. Legend has it, this is where he decided not to invade the state of Lu."
Li Yuan looked at the pavilion with new eyes. "And now?"
"Now no one remembers his name. No one cares about the decisions he made. All that remains is an old building slowly being consumed by time."
Chen Weiqi turned to Li Yuan. "What do you think that means?"
Li Yuan was silent for a while. In the pond, the fish swam in patterns that were never the same, never predictable, yet always harmonious.
"Maybe," Li Yuan said finally, "it means the most important decisions aren't the ones people remember."
Chen Weiqi nodded slowly. "That's one way to see it."
They sat in silence. The evening breeze moved through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and unseen blossoms.
"Li Yuan," Chen Weiqi said after a long pause, "I want to apologize."
Li Yuan turned.
"I... I never imagined this would unfold the way it did. When I first observed you, I was just curious. When I brought Zhao Ping and Liu Shan, I only wanted to understand. But now..."
Chen Weiqi shook his head. "Now your name is mentioned in every teahouse. There are people claiming to be your disciples. Others trying to sell the 'Li Yuan Method' to merchants. Some have even started writing books on the 'Philosophy of Transformative Service.' "
Li Yuan felt something warm—not anger, but... understanding.
"You didn't expect the water to flow when you broke the dam," Li Yuan said.
"Exactly." Chen Weiqi stared at his own hands. "And now I don't know how to stop the flow."
"Why do you want to stop it?"
The question left Chen Weiqi silent.
"Because... because it's wrong. What they're spreading isn't what actually happened. They're turning something pure into... into a commodity."
Li Yuan nodded. "And you feel responsible."
"Of course I do! I started all this."
Li Yuan gazed back at the pond. The fish kept swimming, unaffected by human conversation, indifferent to guilt or the urge to fix things. They swam simply because it was in their nature.
"Chen Weiqi," Li Yuan said, "may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When you first came to the noodle shop, what did you feel?"
Chen Weiqi thought for a moment. "Peace. Like... like there was room to breathe that I couldn't find elsewhere."
"And when you brought your friends to observe?"
"I still felt that peace. But something was different. Like I was observing peace instead of experiencing it."
Li Yuan gave a faint smile. "And now? When you come to the noodle shop these days?"
Chen Weiqi was silent for a long, long time.
"Now," he said finally, "I feel nothing. Just... noise. Noise from everyone trying to find something they don't understand."
"Chen Weiqi," Li Yuan said, "what were you looking for when you first came to the noodle shop?"
"I... I wasn't looking for anything. I was just hungry."
"And you found something."
"Yes."
"What did you find?"
Chen Weiqi looked at the pond, his eyes following the unpredictable, yet perfectly assured movements of the fish.
"I found that it was okay not to look for anything. That sometimes, the best way to understand is not to try to understand at all."
Li Yuan nodded. "And then?"
"Then I started trying to understand. And everything disappeared."
They sat in silence again. This time, longer. The sun dipped lower, turning the golden light into a deeper orange.
"Li Yuan," Chen Weiqi asked at last, "how do we fix this?"
"It can't be fixed."
Chen Weiqi turned quickly, eyes sharp with surprise and disbelief.
"What's done is done," Li Yuan continued. "The water has already flowed. The words have already spread. The interpretations have taken on lives of their own."
"Then what should we do?"
Li Yuan stood slowly. He walked to the pond's edge, knelt down, and dipped his hand into the cold water.
"We let the water find its own path."
Li Yuan lifted his hand from the pond. Water dripped from his fingers, returning to its source with barely a sound.
"Chen Weiqi, look at these fish."
Chen Weiqi approached and crouched beside him.
"They don't know we're talking about them. They don't care whether we understand their patterns or not. They're unaffected by our interpretations of their lives."
Li Yuan looked at him. "They just keep living, keep swimming, keep being themselves—regardless of what we think."
"You mean...?"
"What matters is not the interpretation. What matters is whether the fish can still swim."
Chen Weiqi stared at the pond for a long time. The small fish kept moving in their unpredictable, yet flawless rhythm.
"But what about the people coming, searching for something false? What about those who'll be disappointed when they find out there's no such thing as a 'Li Yuan Technique'?"
Li Yuan stood and dried his hands. "Chen Weiqi, may I tell you a story?"
"Please."
"Yesterday, a woman came to the noodle shop. She said she wanted to learn the 'Transformative Service Method.' She sat there for two hours, taking notes on every move I made."
Li Yuan sat back down on the bench. "As she was about to leave, her five-year-old child tripped and started crying. She panicked, unsure what to do. I simply... offered the child warm water and a clean cloth."
"And?"
"The child stopped crying. Not because of the water. But because someone gave attention—without judgment, without panic, without trying to fix anything."
Li Yuan looked at him. "The woman left with a kind of understanding she never wrote down. A kind of understanding that can't be taught in books or seminars."
"Understanding of what?"
"That sometimes, the best thing we can do for someone is to do nothing. Just... be there."
The sun was nearly at the horizon. Orange light reflected off the pond, creating patterns that danced like the fish below.
"Chen Weiqi," Li Yuan said, "water doesn't stop flowing because someone tries to measure its depth. Water doesn't change its nature just because someone misunderstands its purpose."
"You mean?"
"Truth cannot be destroyed by misinterpretation. It just... keeps flowing. Keeps being present. Keeps offering what's needed to those who truly seek it."
Li Yuan stood again. "What we must do is not stop interpretation. What we must do is ensure that those who truly need it can still find the real water."
"How?"
Li Yuan smiled—a faint, warm smile, like sunlight slipping through thin clouds.
"By being like the fish in this pond. Keep swimming. Keep living according to our nature. No matter who watches, who interprets, who tries to understand."
He walked toward the pavilion's exit. "The water will keep flowing, Chen Weiqi. What matters is that we don't change its course just because we're afraid of being misunderstood."
Chen Weiqi rose and followed. "Li Yuan, wait. What will you do now?"
Li Yuan paused in the doorway. The evening light shadowed his face, making his grey eyes look like deep water.
"I'll return to the noodle shop. Serve customers. Wipe tables. Offer warm water to those who need it."
"And all the noise about the 'Li Yuan Phenomenon'?"
"It will pass. Like all noise." Li Yuan stepped outside. "What won't pass are the children who stay calm while eating, the people who still feel room to breathe, and the water that keeps flowing—even while everyone talks about how to measure a river."
Chen Weiqi stood alone in the darkening pavilion.
Behind him, the fish in the pond kept swimming in their untold patterns. Unconcerned by the conversation that had just ended. Unaffected by guilt or the urge to fix.
They just... swam.
Like water simply... flowed.
Like truth simply... was.
Regardless of interpretation, misunderstanding, or every human effort to own what can only be experienced.
When Chen Weiqi finally left the Pavilion of the Quiet Moon, he carried a different understanding than the one he had come seeking.
He did not find a way to stop interpretation.
He found something deeper: the understanding that some things don't need to be stopped, or fixed, or controlled.
Some things just need... to be allowed to flow.
And sometimes, the best way to protect truth is not to protect it at all.
But simply to continue living in accordance with it—even if the world misunderstands what it sees.
Night fell on Qinlu.
In a small noodle shop at the end of Bamboo Street, Li Yuan wiped down the last table with a worn cloth.
Tomorrow, people might still come looking for a phenomenon.
Tomorrow, interpretations might still spread.
Tomorrow, his name might still be invoked in various theories and explanations.
But tomorrow, the water would still flow.
Silence would still give space.
Presence would still be there for those in need.
And that would be enough.
Because truth does not need to be defended.
It only needs... to be experienced.
By those ready to receive it.
In a way only they can understand.