The main lecture hall of the Mirror Academy was filled with about a hundred students and faculty, their faces showing a mix of curiosity and high expectation. Li Yuan stood at the simple wooden podium, feeling a weight of responsibility he had never experienced before in his three hundred years of life.
This is different from teaching children in the village or helping the Hexin community, Li Yuan realized as he looked at his educated and analytically-minded audience. Here, every word will be analyzed, every gesture observed, every inconsistency questioned.
Master Wei Ling stood to introduce him with words full of honor about his achievements in Hexin and the wisdom he brought. When the applause subsided, Li Yuan took a deep breath and began his first lecture.
"My dear friends," Li Yuan began in a voice that was calm yet carried, "I stand before you not as someone who has all the answers, but as someone who has learned that the right questions are often more valuable than quick answers."
Very subtly, almost imperceptibly, Li Yuan let a little resonance from the Understanding of Silence flow—not for manipulation, but to create a space where his words could truly be heard.
"Today I want to share with you my experience in handling the plague crisis in Hexin, but more importantly, about the fundamental principles that allowed the community not only to survive the crisis but to become stronger because of it."
Li Yuan began to tell the story of the plague with careful detail—describing the initial state of panic, the process of forming a community response, the challenges they faced, and the relatively successful outcome. But he was very careful to portray his own role as just one of many contributors, not as the primary leader or a figure with special abilities.
The most difficult part, he realized as he spoke, was explaining the intuition and insight that actually came from the Understanding of Body and other spiritual understandings, in terms that sounded like practical wisdom that could be developed by any normal person.
"When a sick resident arrived from Yunshan," Li Yuan recounted, "many people's first response was fear—and that's normal. But what I learned is that fear, though natural, does not have to control our actions."
A student raised their hand. "Master Li, how did you help the community overcome that fear? What specific techniques did you use?"
A sharp question. Li Yuan felt a moment of careful consideration. How could he explain using the Understanding of Existence to calm anxiety without sounding supernatural?
"What I found most effective," Li Yuan answered carefully, "is a calm presence and focused attention. When someone feels truly heard and paid attention to, their anxiety often naturally decreases."
Very subtly, he used a bit of the Understanding of Existence now to demonstrate the point—making the student who asked the question feel completely seen and and valued.
"And more importantly," Li Yuan continued, "is helping people focus on what they can control, not on what they can't. Fear often comes from a feeling of helplessness. When people find concrete actions they can take to help the situation, the energy from fear can be transformed into energy for service."
A murmur of agreement ran through the room. Li Yuan could feel that the audience was becoming engaged and resonant with what he was sharing.
"May I ask," Master Wei Ling said from his seat in the front row, "about how you organized coordination among the different groups in the community? Effective crisis management often collapses due to communication and organizational issues."
Li Yuan smiled, feeling more comfortable with this practical question. "We found that the most effective structure was not hierarchical, but what we called 'a network of mutual attention.' Everyone was responsible for paying attention to a few others, and everyone was also paid attention to by a few others."
He began to draw a simple diagram on the available wooden board. "It wasn't like a pyramid where information has to go up and down through multiple levels, but like a web where information could flow quickly from any node to all other nodes."
This was an application of the Understanding of Water regarding flow and adaptability, but explained in purely practical and logical terms.
"What's interesting," one of the senior faculty members commented, "is that this system requires a certain level of trust and mutual care that isn't always present in a community. How did you build that foundation?"
A very good and potentially dangerous question. Li Yuan felt that he needed to be very careful with this answer.
"You're right that trust is an essential foundation," Li Yuan answered thoughtfully. "And what I've learned is that trust cannot be commanded or manipulated into existence. Trust grows from consistency in small daily actions."
He let a little of the Understanding of Silence flow again, creating space for his words to really land.
"Before the crisis came, we had already spent time on simple activities like sharing meals, working together on small projects, and listening to each other's stories. When the emergency arrived, it was the foundation of caring that had already been built through these daily interactions that enabled the rapid coordination."
"So you're suggesting," another student asked, "that the best preparation for a crisis isn't stockpiling resources or creating emergency protocols, but strengthening relationships?"
"Both are important," Li Yuan answered. "But yes, I believe that communities with strong relationships can handle almost any external challenge, while communities without strong bonds will struggle even with abundant resources."
After the lecture ended and the students began to disperse with animated discussions, Li Yuan noticed a young man who remained seated in his chair, staring with a thoughtful and intense expression. There was something about the way he sat, the way he observed, that was very familiar.
He reminds me of someone, Li Yuan realized with a gentle surprise.
"Master Li," the young man approached when the room was mostly empty, "may I ask you something that might be a little... personal?"
"Of course."
"When you spoke about 'a calm presence' and 'focused attention,' there was something about the way you demonstrated those qualities that... felt familiar. Like an echo of something I have read or heard, but I can't quite identify it."
Intuitive and perceptive, Li Yuan realized. Just like little Shui was.
"May I know your name?"
"Wei Chen, Master. I am a third-year student here."
"And what are you studying at this academy, Wei Chen?"
"Primarily, I am interested in how wisdom can be transmitted without being corrupted or distorted. How essential insights can be preserved while being adapted for different contexts and generations."
Exactly like the concerns little Shui once expressed about how to ensure deep understanding wasn't lost when translated for others.
"That's a fascinating area of study," Li Yuan said with genuine interest. "What conclusions have you developed so far?"
Wei Chen sat in a nearby chair, clearly excited to discuss this topic. "I am developing a theory that authentic wisdom has a... self-preserving quality. That genuine truth somehow finds a way to survive and resurface even when external forms change or become corrupted."
Brilliant insight. Li Yuan felt a growing recognition for this young man's intellectual depth.
"And how does this theory apply to the context of the Mirror Academy?"
"Well," Wei Chen said with increasing enthusiasm, "Master Shui learned from a mysterious teacher who left no written teachings or formal legacy. But somehow, the essential insights of that teacher not only survived but flourished and evolved into an entire tradition."
He's talking about me without knowing it.
"I believe," Wei Chen continued, "that this happened because the teacher didn't try to preserve specific words or techniques, but transmitted something more fundamental—a way of seeing, a way of being, a quality of presence that could regenerate appropriate teachings for any situation."
Li Yuan felt a profound amazement. This young man, without knowing the source, has arrived at the exact understanding of how authentic spiritual transmission actually works.
"And you believe that the same principle still applies today?"
"Yes!" Wei Chen said with strong conviction. "I believe that when someone truly embodies wisdom—not just memorizes or repeats teachings, but actually becomes a living expression of those principles—they automatically become a source of new regeneration and development."
Wei Chen looked at Li Yuan with eyes that were suddenly more focused.
"And if I may say so, Master, there's something about the way you present wisdom that suggests you understand this on a very deep level. Not just theoretically, but experientially."
Danger. Li Yuan felt that he was reaching potentially problematic territory.
"I am just someone who has had the opportunity to apply these principles in a practical context," Li Yuan answered with careful humility. "Experience is often a better teacher than theory."
"Of course," Wei Chen said, but with an expression that suggested he was sensing there were deeper layers. "But experience itself... there are different types. There is experience that is cumulative—where a person slowly builds knowledge and skill through practice. And there is experience that is... revelatory. Where a sudden insight changes a person's entire understanding of the nature of reality."
This young man is too perceptive for his own good.
"And you believe there's a significant difference between those two types?"
"Yes. And I believe," Wei Chen said, studying Li Yuan's face with intense attention, "that you have experienced both types. But there's something about the quality of your wisdom that suggests... an unusual depth. Like access to an understanding that is not easily acquired through conventional learning."
Li Yuan felt a moment of real concern. This young man, with his remarkable intuition, was beginning to approach insights that could lead to unanswerable questions.
"Wei Chen," Li Yuan said with gentleness but also with a subtle firmness, "I appreciate the depth of your thinking. But I also want to caution you that sometimes, curiosity about the source of wisdom can distract from the focus that should be on the application of that wisdom itself."
"What do you mean, Master?"
"I mean that what's most important isn't where wisdom comes from, but how that wisdom can help us serve others and contribute to healing and growth."
Li Yuan let a little of the Understanding of Silence flow, creating space for these words to really penetrate.
"Master Shui, from what I have read about him, understood this with perfect clarity. He focused not on identifying or worshiping the original teacher, but on developing and sharing the insights he received in ways that could help as many people as possible."
Wei Chen nodded slowly, clearly processing this redirect. "You're right, of course. And perhaps... perhaps my attempts to analyze the source of authentic wisdom are exactly the type of distraction you're warning against."
"Not a distraction," Li Yuan corrected gently, "but a secondary priority. The primary priority is becoming clear vessels for whatever wisdom we have received, regardless of its source."
"Like becoming clear mirrors for others?"
"Exactly."
Wei Chen stood up with an expression that shifted from curiosity about Li Yuan personally to gratitude for the practical insight.
"Thank you, Master Li. This conversation has been... clarifying for me in ways I did not expect."
"And for me as well," Li Yuan said with complete sincerity. "Your questions have helped me think more clearly about how to present ideas without creating an unhelpful focus on the presenter."
That night, Li Yuan sat in his guest room, reflecting on a day that had been both intellectually and emotionally challenging. The lecture had gone well—the audience was engaged, the questions were thoughtful, and the feedback was positive. But the encounter with Wei Chen had raised concerns about the sustainability of his carefully maintained identity.
That young man has remarkable intuition and a sharp analytical mind, Li Yuan thought. A combination that could be potentially dangerous if he continues to probe deeper.
But at the same time, he also demonstrated exactly the type of wisdom and maturity that make him an ideal candidate to eventually become a teacher in this tradition.
A familiar dilemma: how to nurture genuine potential without exposing secrets that need to be protected?
Li Yuan felt grateful for the successful redirect in their conversation, but also aware that this would probably not be the last time he would need to navigate similar situations.
Three more months at this academy, he calculated. Three months of carefully balanced teaching, sharing meaningful wisdom without revealing the true sources, contributing to a tradition founded by a beloved student without claiming credit or recognition for his role in creating that foundation.
A challenge that would require all his skills in diplomacy, humility, and spiritual discernment.
But also a rare and precious opportunity to see from the inside how a healthy tradition grows, develops, and transmits wisdom across generations without losing the essential qualities that make wisdom authentic and beneficial.
And perhaps, he added with a thought that carried both hope and uncertainty, an opportunity to plant seeds for further development that will serve even more people in ways that he could not yet fully anticipate.
With a renewed resolve to approach his remaining time at the academy with wisdom, caution, and a commitment to the highest good, Li Yuan prepared for sleep and for whatever challenges and opportunities tomorrow would bring.