The week after the festival, Li Yuan sat in his backyard, gazing at the cloudy morning sky. Something had been bothering him since the night of the festival—a strange thirst for an experience he had never had as a consciousness body.
For three months of living as Li Qingshan, he had experienced almost every aspect of human life: fatigue after work, the joy of sharing food, the warmth of friendship, and even the longing for home. But there was one universal human experience he had never touched: physical vulnerability.
Sickness.
In the damp morning silence, Li Yuan contemplated this strange paradox. He who had lived for centuries, who had experienced the destruction of a physical body and the transformation into a pure soul, had never felt the most basic thing of the human condition: a weak body asking for help.
"What does it feel like," he asked himself, "when the body is no longer a perfect tool, but a burden that requires the care of others?"
Li Yuan closed his eyes and focused on the sensations of his consciousness body. The Understanding of Body gently vibrated beneath his skin, maintaining every physical detail with perfect precision. Every breath was regular, every heartbeat was stable, every muscle was responsive.
Too perfect for an ordinary human.
With cautious hesitation—like someone trying to play an unfamiliar instrument—Li Yuan began to loosen the grip of his Understanding of Body on his physical projection. Not letting go completely, but like loosening a rope that was too tight, allowing a little imperfection to enter.
The effect was not immediate. First, just a faint, almost unnoticeable dizziness. Then a slightly dry throat. Then muscles that began to feel heavy, as if gravity had suddenly become stronger.
Li Yuan opened his eyes and felt the world sway slightly as he stood. His Understanding of Existence and Wrapping remained intact, keeping him real and protected, but the Understanding of Body was now only working at... three-quarters capacity.
"Interesting," he thought, feeling this new sensation. "This is what it feels like when the body is no longer a perfect ally."
"Qingshan xiong, your face is very pale today," Mr. Shen said when Li Yuan arrived at the Word House with a slightly unsteady step.
Li Yuan felt a warm forehead—not from a real fever, but because his consciousness body was now working harder to maintain its basic functions. "I think I'm feeling a bit unwell, sir."
Mr. Shen immediately came closer, his wrinkled hand touching Li Yuan's forehead with the gentleness of a father. "Good heavens, you're hot! Why did you force yourself to come? You should have rested at home."
"I can still work, sir..."
"No!" Mr. Shen shook his head with an uncharacteristic firmness. "Sickness must be rested, not forced. It will only get worse. Go home now, get enough sleep. Come back tomorrow when you're well."
Li Yuan felt a strange warmth in his chest—not from the artificial fever, but from this sincere concern. When was the last time someone was worried about his physical health? When was the last time he was considered human enough to get sick?
"Alright, sir. Thank you."
"Be careful on your way. And don't hesitate to ask your neighbors for help if you need anything."
The walk home became a lesson in limitations. Every step required greater effort. Li Yuan had to stop twice to hold onto a wall, feeling how the world suddenly became a more challenging place when the body wasn't functioning perfectly.
"This is how," he realized, taking a breath that felt heavy, "humans live every day. With imperfect bodies, with limited energy, with the need for rest and care."
When he entered Harmony Alley, Chen Wei, who was sanding a wooden bench, immediately looked up.
"Hey, Qingshan xiong! What's wrong with you? Your face is so red!"
Li Yuan just smiled weakly, feeling how even speaking now required effort. "I have a bit of a fever, it seems."
"Goodness!" Chen Wei threw down the sandpaper and came to him. "Don't stand here. Come inside the house first." He knocked on Lin Sao's door loudly. "Mrs. Lin! Mrs. Lin! Qingshan xiong is sick!"
The door opened quickly, and Lin Sao's face immediately turned worried when she saw Li Yuan's condition. "Oh dear! What's wrong with you? Come inside, don't stay out."
"No need to trouble yourself, Lin Sao..."
"Trouble? We're neighbors!" Lin Sao took his arm gently but with an undeniable force. "Chen Wei, get a chair for him."
Li Yuan found himself seated on a comfortable wooden chair, while his two neighbors moved with a speed and efficiency that showed that caring for the sick was a very natural thing for them.
"Must be a cold," Lin Sao mumbled, touching his forehead again. "The weather has been so erratic. Chen Wei, call Mrs. Zhou at the end of the alley. She knows the most about herbal remedies."
In a time that surprised Li Yuan, the news of his sickness had spread throughout Harmony Alley. One by one, his neighbors came with something—Mrs. Zhou with a bowl of steaming hot ginger and turmeric broth, Mrs. Wang with a plate of still-warm chicken porridge, and even the shy Wang Xiao appeared with a peeled orange.
"Drink this first," Mrs. Zhou said, handing him a bowl of brownish liquid. "Ginger, turmeric, soursop leaves, and honey. To lower the fever and warm the body from the inside."
Li Yuan accepted the bowl with hands he allowed to tremble slightly. The concoction was bitter on his tongue but warm in his throat, and there was something soothing about the ritual of drinking medicine prepared with caring hands.
"Now eat this porridge," Lin Sao said, sitting next to him with a wooden spoon. "Free-range chicken boiled for a long time with ginger and garlic. It'll warm your stomach."
Li Yuan had never imagined that being fed could be such an... intimate experience. Not in a romantic sense, but in the most fundamental human sense: someone who cared enough to make sure a weak body got the nutrients it needed.
"Thank you," he whispered in a voice he made hoarse. "You're all... so kind."
"What are you saying," Chen Wei laughed, patting his shoulder gently. "We're one family. A family looks out for each other."
Family. The word echoed in Li Yuan's heart with a resonance he had never felt before. For centuries, he had sought understanding in solitude, in an individual search for higher wisdom. But maybe there was another form of understanding that could only be found in shared vulnerability, in care that was given and received without calculation.
That afternoon, Li Yuan lay in his bed, feeling the effects of Mrs. Zhou's remedy slowly making his body feel more stable. Not because the remedy truly healed him—after all, his "sickness" was the result of an experiment with his Understanding of Body—but because there was something healing about being cared for with love that expected nothing in return.
A gentle knock on the door made him get up slowly. In the doorway, Lin Sao stood with a tray holding a bowl of porridge and a glass of steaming tea.
"Feeling better?" she asked, coming in and placing the tray on the small table.
"Much better. Thank you, Lin Sao."
"That's a relief. This is a thinner chicken porridge. It's easier to digest when you're sick." Lin Sao sat in a chair next to the bed, her natural movements showing that caring for the sick was a very familiar thing for her. "Qingshan xiong, do you... have a family?"
The question hung in the air like slowly rising incense smoke. Li Yuan was silent, feeling the weight of three hundred and ten years of life that he couldn't tell.
"Now I do," he finally answered in a voice that was almost a whisper. "All of you."
Lin Sao's eyes welled up, and she nodded with a warm smile. "Yes. We are all family here. A family never lets its members suffer alone."
After Lin Sao left, Li Yuan lay there, staring at the wooden ceiling of his house. Slowly, he allowed the Understanding of Body to strengthen again, the "fever" subsided, and his strength returned like water flowing back after a dam is opened.
But something else didn't recover—or rather, something new had grown. A deeper understanding of what it means to be a vulnerable human, and how beautiful it is when that vulnerability is met with compassion instead of being rejected or hidden.
The next day, when Li Yuan appeared at the Word House with a refreshed face, Mr. Shen greeted him with a relieved smile that lit up his entire old face.
"You're well! Thank goodness. Did the rest yesterday help?"
"Very much, sir. And... my neighbors were so kind in taking care of me."
"Of course. The people of Hexin are known for helping each other. But you're also lucky to have neighbors as good as Lin Sao and Chen Wei."
Li Yuan nodded, preparing his brush and ink for a new day of work. "Mr. Shen, may I ask you something?"
"Please do."
"Why are people here so quick to help? Even a person they just met like me?"
Mr. Shen stopped arranging the scrolls and looked at Li Yuan with eyes full of understanding. "Because we all know what it feels like to need help. Everyone has been sick, has had difficulties, has felt alone. So when we see someone else in the same situation..." He shrugged. "Well, we help. It's that simple."
"Simple," Li Yuan repeated the word, feeling a subtle vibration in his Zhenjing. "But not easy."
"Why isn't it easy?"
"Because... to truly help someone, we have to be willing to open our hearts. And opening our hearts always carries the risk of getting hurt."
Mr. Shen smiled with a deep wisdom. "You're right. But the risk of not opening your heart is much greater than the risk of opening it. If the heart is never opened, we live alone even when surrounded by thousands of people."
Li Yuan felt something shift in his existing understandings—about Existence, about human connection—making them richer, deeper, more meaningful. Yesterday, he learned what it felt like to be vulnerable. Today, he learned what it felt like when that vulnerability was met with unconditional love.
And in that learning, Li Yuan realized that maybe this is what it means to be truly human: not about strength or perfection, but about the courage to show weakness, and the kindness to respond to the weakness of others with compassion.
The morning wind blew gently through the window of the Word House, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine and wet earth after the night's rain, like the breath of the world also giving thanks that there was still a place where humans remember how to love one another in the simplest and most important of ways.