He had thought about the sky before.
He had once understood it as a symbol of freedom, vastness, and higher perspective.
But today, beneath the old tree atop the hill, with the shadow of war looming over the horizon, Li Yuan felt something deeper.
The sky had no boundaries not because it was infinite—
but because it had no need for them.
The realization came with startling clarity, like a flash of lightning illuminating a landscape in an instant.
Humans created boundaries out of fear—
Fear of attack. Fear of loss. Fear of insufficiency.
Nations drew borders out of fear their lands would be seized.
Individuals built walls around their hearts out of fear of being hurt.
But the sky? The sky feared no loss, because it possessed nothing to lose.
And precisely because it possessed nothing, it possessed everything.
Li Yuan closed his eyes and felt the vastness of the sky above him.
Not just the physical sky—blue, with slow-drifting clouds—
but the essence of the sky. The quality that made it what it was.
Unconditional openness.
Acceptance without selection.
Presence without claim.
Freedom without rebellion.
This was what it meant to need no boundaries, Li Yuan understood deeply.
When there is nothing to defend, there is nothing to enclose.
When there is no fear of loss, there is nothing to fence in.
A wind blew from the south, carrying an unfamiliar scent.
Not the fragrance of flowers or the freshness of damp earth—
but the scent of… tension.
The sweat of anxious men.
The tang of metal being sharpened.
The smoke of uneasy fires.
The scent of war drawing near.
Li Yuan opened his eyes and looked south again. Somewhere beyond those rolling hills, the State of Lu was preparing its defenses.
Soldiers gathering. Civilians fleeing or hiding. Leaders holding emergency councils.
All of it born from fear—fear of losing land, power, or life.
But what if there was nothing that needed defending?
Li Yuan stepped away from the tree, into the open crown of the hill.
He stood beneath the wide midday sky, spread his arms, and tried to feel what the sky felt.
No walls.
No roof.
No limits.
Only presence—boundless, unbounded.
Inhale.
Li Yuan drew a deep breath, and this time he felt not only air or the resonance of his surroundings—
but space.
The limitless space above him.
Space that was never full, never narrow, never exhausted.
Exhale.
And with that exhalation, something within him seemed to expand.
Not his body—his body was unchanged—
but something within his inner being, something within his Zhenjing, as if it suddenly had far more room.
I do not need to defend who I am, the realization came, like clouds parting to let sunlight through.
Because who I am cannot be lost—just as the sky cannot be lost beneath the clouds.
Li Yuan felt a shift within his understanding.
For all his teachings about emptiness and letting go of ego, a small part of him had still clung to identity—
Identity as Li Yuan, as one who understood Daojing, as someone apart from others.
But now, standing beneath a sky with no name, no identity beyond its pure existence, Li Yuan grasped something more fundamental:
I do not need to be anyone in order to exist.
The understanding of Sky began to vibrate within his Zhenjing.
The vibration was gentle but vast, like an echo in a cavern without end.
Unlike other understandings, which were more focused and contained, this one spread—filling all of his inner space, adding a new dimension to everything that already lived there.
Water flowed more freely when there were no walls to hold it.
Silence grew deeper when there was no ceiling to press it down.
Fear was easier to accept when there was infinite space to contain it.
And then, with the same gentleness as the midday sun touching the earth without force, the understanding of Sky crossed an unseen threshold—
and entered Ganjing.
Its effect was not like an explosion or an earthquake.
It was like the sky itself had suddenly grown higher.
Li Yuan felt something in his chest… open.
Not his heart—it beat as usual—
but the space within his chest, the place where all understandings resided, as if its ceiling had vanished into infinity.
Around him, the change was subtle but profound.
The air felt… more spacious—not colder or warmer, but as though there were more room between each molecule.
The old tree behind him seemed to stand a little straighter, its leaves moving with freer rhythm.
And most striking of all—the distant scents of tension, sweat, sharpened metal—
now felt… less urgent.
Still present, but softened by the vastness that now held them.
Li Yuan looked south once more.
The smoke was still there.
The shadow of war still lingered.
The tension still moved in the air.
But now, he saw them differently—not as threats to avoid or problems to solve, but as… weather.
Like rain, or wind, or mist—something that came and went, that affected but did not command.
War is the storm, Li Yuan understood.
And I am the sky through which it passes.
But almost immediately, Li Yuan realized that this new Sky understanding in Ganjing required careful wrapping.
Left fully open, its effect might be too strong.
People nearby might suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to let go of all boundaries, all duties—
and in the tense prelude to war, that could be dangerous.
Li Yuan sat again and entered his Zhenjing.
The Sky understanding now shone with a light that spread—
not concentrated like a star, but like a dawn brightening the entire horizon.
Beautiful, but too wide to be left without regulation.
With the help of his Wrapping understanding, Li Yuan began to sheath the resonance of Sky.
Not to limit it—that would contradict its nature—
but to soften its reach.
Like placing a thin cloth over a lamp:
the light still spreads, but without blinding.
When the wrapping was complete, Li Yuan felt a new balance.
The Sky still gave its sense of vastness,
but now in a way that would not make others feel unmoored.
He could still feel its boundless freedom,
but those around him would only sense that it was a little easier to breathe,
a little lighter on the shoulders,
a little freer in the chest.
Enough to comfort, not so much as to disrupt.
Li Yuan rose and picked up his pack.
Eight understandings now resided in Ganjing:
Water, Silence, Emptiness, Fear, Wrapping, Doubt, Breath, and now Sky.
Each wrapped just enough.
Each adding to the ever more complex yet harmonious resonance within him.
He was ready to continue toward the State of Lu.
Before leaving the hill, Li Yuan turned once more to the old tree that had witnessed his awakening.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
The leaves shifted in the midday wind, as if waving.
Or perhaps it was only the wind.
Li Yuan had no need to know for sure.
What mattered was that he now carried a little of the sky's vastness in every step.
And in the State of Lu he was about to enter,
there might be those who needed to feel that above all conflict,
above all the boundaries they guarded so fiercely,
there was still a sky with no enemies.
A sky that sheltered all sides equally.
A sky that never took sides because it never needed victory.
Li Yuan began descending the hill with lighter steps.
Not because his burden was less—
his pack was as heavy as ever,
his journey as long as before—
but because he now carried the sky in his chest.
And the sky never felt burdened by the weight of the clouds that passed through it.
Clouds come, clouds go.
The sky remains.
Vast, calm, and always enough.