Five thousand souls.
The number resonated in Li Yuan's consciousness like a symphony that grew more complex with every new note added. Five thousand existences floated in his Zhenjing's Soul Comprehension space, creating a resonance so rich it could almost be heard as spiritual music.
Li Yuan stood on the peak of an old—very old—mountain, where only a handful of human soul wisps floated, yet something else caught his attention. Something that made his Soul Comprehension tremble with a frequency he had never felt before.
"This mountain," he whispered, placing his consciousness body's hand on the stone surface polished by time over millions of years, "this mountain also has a soul."
The Human Soul (灵魂 Línghún)
For the past four thousand years, Li Yuan had focused on the human souls touched by his resonance—spirit souls that could understand, feel, and choose. In Daojing terminology, these are 灵魂 (Línghún), souls that possess a reflective consciousness, the ability to understand themselves and their place in the greater order.
"Humans are the easiest to walk the path of comprehension," he reflected, sensing the resonance of the five thousand human souls in his Zhenjing, "because of their reflective consciousness. They can ask 'why?' and 'how?' and 'for what?'"
The five thousand human souls within him were proof of this capacity—though now in a dormant state, their spiritual structure still retained a complexity that indicated a life filled with choices, reflections, and conscious experiences.
The Animal Soul (魄 Pò)
However, as Li Yuan expanded his spiritual awareness, he began to detect a different presence. On the slopes of this mountain, he sensed smaller wisps, vibrating with a different frequency—the souls of animals that had also been touched by his global resonance four thousand years ago.
"魄 (Pò)," he said, naming the term for the instinctive soul, "the soul that is closer to instinct, but can still sense the Dao."
The animal soul wisps were different from human souls. Their light was not green-white but more bluish with a golden fringe. They were smaller in size, their resonance simpler, yet there was something pure in their vibration—like a clear musical note without complex harmonization.
"The bird that feels the seasons, the fish that follows the current," Li Yuan spoke to the soul wisp of an eagle floating near the peak, "you are a true mirror of understanding. Without the complexity of human reflective consciousness, you live in direct harmony with the Dao."
The Plant Soul (息 Xī)
As Li Yuan moved deeper into spiritual exploration, he discovered an even more subtle layer of souls. The ancient trees on the mountain's slopes—some hundreds, even thousands of years old—also had souls that had been touched by his resonance.
"息 (Xī)," he mentioned the term for the breath of life, the slow, passive, yet real soul of plants.
The souls of these trees were almost imperceptible even to Li Yuan's Soul Comprehension—like a very faint light, vibrating with an extremely slow rhythm. A single flicker every few hours, like a breath taken over a very long time.
"Stillness, patience, deep roots," he felt the qualities of these plant souls. "You teach about a different kind of time, about patient growth, about a quiet strength."
The Universal Soul (天地之魂 Tiāndì zhī hún)
But what surprised Li Yuan the most was when he began to sense something even more fundamental—the soul of the mountain itself, of the earth beneath it, of the sky above it.
"天地之魂 (Tiāndì zhī hún)," he whispered with deep awe, "the soul of heaven and earth."
This was not an individual soul like a human or an animal. This was a collective soul, a soul that encompassed the entire ecosystem, the entire landscape, even the entire planet. A soul so vast and ancient that it was almost incomprehensible from an individual perspective.
"This is why cultivators can resonate with the world," the realization flowed like water finding a new channel, "because the world has a universal soul—道魂 (Dào Hún)."
The Question of Death
However, this discovery raised a complex question in Li Yuan's mind. Human, animal, and even plant souls could "die" in the conventional sense—their individual consciousness could cease, their physical bodies could be destroyed, and under normal circumstances, their souls would dissolve back into the Dao.
"But this mountain," Li Yuan stared at the ancient mass of rock that had stood for millions of years, "can a mountain 'die'? Do the souls of mountains, the souls of rivers, the souls of the sky have the same cycle as individual souls?"
The question had no easy answer. Mountains could be eroded by time, rivers could dry up, and even stars could fade. But these processes took geological time that surpassed human understanding of "life" and "death."
"Perhaps," he reflected, sensing the subtle resonance of the mountain's ancient soul, "these universal souls operate on a different time scale. They 'live' for millions of years, and 'die' over an even longer period."
Implications for the Collection Operation
This discovery brought with it practical questions about his collection operation. If his global resonance four thousand years ago touched not only human souls but also the souls of animals, plants, and even universal souls, what was the true total number of touched souls on this planet?
"Millions of human souls, tens of millions of animal souls, hundreds of millions of plant souls," Li Yuan calculated with growing concern, "and maybe thousands of universal souls from different mountains, rivers, and landscapes."
The scale of the already massive operation was now even more overwhelming. Li Yuan realized that he was not just dealing with the collection of individual souls but with an entire spiritual ecosystem that had been affected.
The Philosophy of the Universal Soul
"The soul does not belong only to humans," Li Yuan concluded, sensing the various layers of souls around him—human, animal, plant, and universal. "Old trees have souls, stars have souls, even silence has a soul. The Daojing is the path to listen to those souls—and to discover that all souls ultimately originate from the same Dao."
This understanding changed his perspective on the collection operation. He wasn't just collecting touched souls to protect them—he was collecting fragments of a universal harmony that had been disturbed by his actions four thousand years ago.
"Everything that exists has a soul," he formulated a fundamental principle. "Humans, animals, plants, mountains, rivers, phenomena, even the Dao itself. The only difference is the type of soul and the depth of its consciousness."
A Deeper Resonance
With this new understanding, Li Yuan began to sense why the Daojing worked with such high effectiveness. The human soul can hear other souls—that is resonance. And within that resonance, all souls recognize their shared origin from the universal Dao.
"The five thousand human souls within me," he reflected, feeling the complexity of the resonance in his Zhenjing, "are the beginning of a greater understanding of the interconnectedness of all souls in the universe."
The collection operation now had an even more profound dimension. Li Yuan was not just collecting individual souls—he was gathering parts of a fragmented universal consciousness, striving to restore a harmony that had been disturbed.
The journey is still very long, and its complexity continues to grow with every new discovery.