The gates of the Mirror Academy loomed majestically before Li Yuan as the carriage finally came to a halt after the emotionally exhausting journey. The main building was made of white stone that shone softly in the morning sun, with an architecture that combined elegance and simplicity—precisely the philosophy Li Yuan had taught centuries ago.
It's incredible, Li Yuan reflected as he stepped out of the carriage, gazing at the vast complex of buildings before him. From the simple teaching of being a clear mirror, an institution has grown so grand, yet it has retained the very essence of simplicity and humility.
"Master Li Qingshan," a young student in a simple white robe approached with genuine respect. "I am Chen Ming, assigned to guide you during your visit. Master Wei Ling apologizes for not being able to greet you directly—he is currently leading a morning meditation session for the senior students."
Li Yuan nodded in appreciation. Even as an honored guest, he does not interrupt the academy's rituals and priorities. It shows that the true values are still held in high regard here.
"Thank you, Chen Ming. I am very much looking forward to seeing how this academy has grown."
"In that case, let's begin with the main library," Chen Ming said, leading the way through a wide courtyard filled with small gardens and reflecting pools. "Master Wei Ling said you would surely be interested in seeing the development of the literature on the philosophy of clear sight."
As they walked, Li Yuan carefully observed how the students interacted with each other. There was a calmness in their movements, patience in their speech, and most strikingly—a way they truly listened when others spoke, giving full attention without rushing to respond.
Just as I once taught about true listening, Li Yuan realized with a warm heart. They don't just study techniques or theory; they truly embody these principles in their daily lives.
The Mirror Academy's library impressed Li Yuan with its exceptional scale and organization. The main hall had a high ceiling adorned with large windows that allowed natural light to flood the entire space. The bookshelves, made of finely polished wood, were neatly arranged, and what was most surprising was the number of books that discussed themes so familiar to Li Yuan.
"This section," Chen Ming pointed to a large area, "contains thousands of writings on the Philosophy of Clear Sight. It ranges from Master Shui's original works to the interpretations and developments by succeeding generations."
Li Yuan approached the shelves with mixed feelings. Books with titles like "The Art of Being a Mirror for Others," "Listening That Transcends Words," "Wisdom in Simplicity," "Understanding Without Judgment."
All the themes I once discussed with the children in Ziran Village, Li Yuan realized as he opened one of the books and read a few pages. But they have evolved into a complex and profound system of thought.
"Chen Ming," Li Yuan said, still flipping through the book's pages, "may I ask, how do the students here practice these teachings? I mean, how is theory translated into real action?"
The young man's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Ah, that's an excellent question, Master. Let me show you the practical training area."
They left the library and walked towards a complex of lower buildings, surrounded by a large garden with various small pavilions scattered here and there.
"This is the Mirror Practice Field," Chen Ming explained, pointing to a vast area where dozens of students were engaged in various activities. "Here, students practice being a 'mirror' for the community in various contexts."
Li Yuan observed with intense focus. In one pavilion, a group of students was practicing listening to stories from villagers who came for consultation, giving their full attention without rushing to offer advice. In another pavilion, students were practicing mediating small conflicts, helping the quarreling parties see each other's perspectives.
Remarkable, Li Yuan was awestruck. They are not just learning philosophy as an abstract concept; they are truly training the ability to apply it in real situations.
"And what's most interesting," Chen Ming continued, pointing to an area where students were interacting with small children, "is a program where senior students practice teaching in a way that doesn't lecture. They help others discover their own wisdom, rather than imposing ready-made answers."
Just like what I tried to do with the children in the village, Li Yuan felt something warm and proud touch his heart. Helping them find the light within themselves, rather than blinding them with my own light.
"Master Shui taught," Chen Ming said with a tone of deep reverence, "that a true teacher is one who makes their student no longer need a teacher. One who helps a person become a clear mirror for themselves and for others."
The very words I once said, Li Yuan realized with a complex mix of emotions. Teachings I thought would only last in the memories of a few village children have, in fact, become the foundation of an entire educational system.
As the afternoon drew to a close, Chen Ming led Li Yuan toward the most sacred building in the academy complex—the Master Shui Memorial Hall.
"This is the most hallowed place for us," Chen Ming said as he opened the double doors made of beautifully carved wood. "Here, we keep all the memories and legacy of Master Shui, including his notes about the mysterious teacher who changed his life."
Li Yuan entered the hall with slow steps, his heart pounding with both anticipation and anxiety. The room was softly lit by candles placed in various corners, creating a calm and contemplative atmosphere.
In the center of the room, a simple altar with a statue of Master Shui in a meditative pose. And on the surrounding walls, hung various paintings, calligraphies, and notes that depicted the life journey of the academy's founder.
But what most captured Li Yuan's attention was the large painting hanging on the main wall—a painting that depicted a young man teaching a group of children under a large tree.
That's... that's me, Li Yuan realized with a profound shock. It's a painting of the teaching scene in Ziran Village.
Chen Ming noticed where Li Yuan was looking. "Ah, Master is interested in the Painting of the Mysterious Teacher. It is one of our academy's treasures."
Li Yuan approached the painting with unsteady steps. The details in the painting were astonishing—the large tree where they used to gather, the familiar sitting positions of the children, and even the expressions of enthusiasm on their young faces.
But what was most surprising was how the artist had painted the figure of the teacher himself. His body was drawn with clear detail—a straight but not stiff posture, hands moving with gentleness as he explained, and simple clothes befitting the character of a village teacher.
However, his face... his face was deliberately obscured, as if covered by a shadow or a thin mist. Only a general outline was visible, and most strikingly, the area where his eyes should have been was completely blackened.
"Why is the teacher's face in this painting obscured?" Li Yuan asked in a slightly trembling voice.
"According to Master Shui's notes," Chen Ming explained with a tone of deep reverence, "the mysterious teacher had very striking features—gleaming jet-black hair and gray eyes described as 'the depth of a storm, able to look directly into a person's soul.'"
Li Yuan's breath hitched. An exact description of how I used to look.
"But," Chen Ming continued, "Master Shui deliberately asked the artists not to draw the teacher's facial details. He said that true wisdom does not need a face or an identity—what matters are the teachings and the influence left behind. So the eye area was intentionally blackened as a symbol that 'the true eye sees with the heart, not with the physical eye.'"
Wise little Shui, Li Yuan felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Even as an adult who had become a master, he still understood the essence of what I had tried to teach.
Beneath the painting, a calligraphy scroll was displayed with writing that Li Yuan recognized as Master Shui's handwriting:
"A true teacher is one who disappears so that the student can shine. An unseen face teaches that wisdom lives in action, not in appearance. The blackened eyes remind us that clear sight comes from the stillness of the heart, not from the sharpness of the eye."
Li Yuan read the words over and over, feeling both a deep pride and a profound sadness. He truly understood. Everything I had tried to teach about humility, about not seeking recognition, about letting wisdom speak through actions—he understood it all and embodied it even in the way he commemorated the teacher who had changed his life.
"There's one more interesting thing," Chen Ming said, pointing to a small inscription at the bottom corner of the painting. "Master Shui wrote a personal note about the teacher's characteristics that he never forgot."
Li Yuan read the small note with a pounding heart:
"The teacher who taught me to see the world with the eyes of the heart had a presence that could not be forgotten. When he spoke, it was as if silence itself was speaking. When he listened, he was truly present, as if there was nothing else in the world besides the words you were saying. And when he left, the space he left behind was not an emptiness, but a warmth that continued to glow in the hearts of those he had taught."
"To this day, sometimes in the quiet of the night, I can still feel his presence—not as a physically present figure, but as a gentle reminder that true wisdom never truly leaves those who have received it with an open heart."
Li Yuan closed his eyes, feeling an overwhelming emotion flow through his entire body. He still remembers. After all these years, after becoming a great master with thousands of students, he still remembers the simple lessons I gave when he was just a curious little boy.
And even more incredibly, he had developed those teachings into a system of wisdom that helped thousands of people become better versions of themselves.
"Master Li," Chen Ming said softly, "are you alright? You look... very moved by this painting."
Li Yuan opened his eyes and wiped away the tears he hadn't realized were flowing. "Yes... yes, I'm fine. It's just that... this painting and the philosophy it represents are very... very resonant with my own understanding of what it means to be a true teacher."
"That is why Master Wei Ling was so enthusiastic about your arrival," Chen Ming said with a warm smile. "He said that your approach to community leadership in Hexin is a living embodiment of the principles that Master Shui taught. As if the wisdom of that mysterious teacher has found a way to manifest again in a new form."
If only he knew how literally true that statement was, Li Yuan thought with a mix of humor and bitter irony.
That night, in the simple yet comfortable guest room provided for him, Li Yuan sat on a wooden chair, looking out the window that overlooked the academy garden. The full moon illuminated the grounds with a soft silver light, and the gentle sounds of the academy's evening activities—quiet discussions in the pavilions, group meditations in the gardens, the rustle of turning book pages in the library—created a peaceful symphony.
What an incredible day, Li Yuan reflected, feeling the gentle resonance of the three understandings still active within him. To see with my own eyes how the simple seeds I planted centuries ago have grown into a great tree that provides shelter and nourishment for thousands.
Little Shui has become the wise and humble Master Shui. The teaching of being a clear mirror has evolved into a comprehensive system of service and wisdom. And most movingly, he understood and embodied the principle that a true teacher is one who disappears so the student can shine.
Li Yuan felt a profound gratitude mixed with a heavy sense of responsibility. Tomorrow, I will begin giving lectures and workshops. I will share my wisdom with students and faculty who have dedicated their lives to a tradition I inadvertently helped create.
The challenge is how to make a meaningful contribution without revealing the true connection to the founding philosophy. How to be helpful without claiming credit for what has grown far beyond what I ever imagined.
But perhaps, he realized, remembering the painting with the obscured face and blackened eyes, that is the most important lesson I can give—that true wisdom indeed does not need recognition or a revelation about its source.
What matters is the service, the contribution, and the commitment to helping this tradition continue to grow in ways that serve the greatest good of as many people as possible.
With a renewed resolve and a heart full of appreciation for the beautiful legacy that had grown from humble beginnings in a small, secluded village, Li Yuan prepared himself for sleep and for the challenges and opportunities that the coming days would bring.
Tomorrow, he thought, feeling a peaceful exhaustion from the emotionally intense day, I will begin the next chapter of this extraordinary journey—a chapter where past, present, and future converge in ways that even his extensive spiritual wisdom did not fully prepare him to navigate.
But with a foundation of love, humility, and a commitment to service that has always guided his actions, he trusts that this journey will unfold in ways that honor both the legacy of the past and the possibilities of the future.