The silence of the night enveloped the Miller Inn with a familiar gentleness. Li Yuan lay on a simple bed with a straw mattress that gave off the scent of dried lavender, staring at the wooden ceiling painted with soft shadows by the moonlight filtering through the small window.
For the first time since he had spoken with Anna, with Thomas, with everyone in this village, something strange bothered his mind.
Language.
Li Yuan closed his eyes, letting his consciousness flow back to the conversations he had had throughout the day. Anna's words when she said "I am Anna Brennan." Thomas's voice when he explained about the "Kingdom of Astoria." Margaret's small laugh when she talked about "Baron Harwick."
Every word had flowed naturally into his ears, every sentence was instantly understood without effort, every nuance of meaning was clearly caught. But now, in the stillness of the night that allowed him to reflect...
They are not speaking the same language as me.
The realization hit him like a drop of water falling onto the surface of a calm lake—subtle, yet creating widening ripples.
Li Yuan got up from the bed, sitting cross-legged in the meditation position that had become an instinct for thousands of years. He let his Ganjing flow gently, feeling the resonance of the sleeping village around him. Not to disturb, but to understand.
And in that flow of understanding, he began to feel something extraordinary.
Hearing intent.
When Anna spoke to him, the sounds coming from her mouth were indeed in a foreign language—sounds he had never heard in eleven thousand years of his existence. However, on a deeper level than physical hearing, his Ganjing was catching the intent behind those words.
It wasn't words being translated, but meaning being transferred directly from mind to mind.
When Anna said something in her language, what Li Yuan "heard" was not the sounds of words, but the resonance of warmth, an invitation, kindness, and a mother's concern. When Thomas spoke about the structure of the government, what his Ganjing caught was the feeling of responsibility, a careful pride, and a hidden concern for the welfare of his village.
Communication on the level of feeling, not words.
Li Yuan smiled thinly in the darkness. This was one of Ganjing's abilities that even he had almost forgotten—the ability to communicate on the level of pure understanding, transcending the limitations of language. The inner meaning was captured directly, translated not by the mind, but by the resonance of the soul.
He recalled the day's conversations again. When Lila asked, "Who are you?" what he heard were not words in a foreign language, but an innocent curiosity, a desire to get to know someone, and a child's joy in discovering something interesting.
And when he answered, his response also flowed in the form of a resonance of meaning—not words in his own language, but an intent transmitted through Ganjing, then "translated" by their minds into words in their language.
The world has changed more than I imagined, his inner self murmured with a mix of awe and nostalgia.
Li Yuan got up and walked to the small window, looking at the view of the quiet village under the moonlight. Simple houses with thatched roofs, winding paths, small gardens sleeping in the silence of the night.
Then, like water finding its channel, memories flowed back.
The books in the ancient library.
Long ago, when he was still a child in Ziran Village, he had read an old book that spoke of the world's diversity. The book explained how humans were scattered into various environments—mountains, valleys, beaches, forests, grasslands, and even remote islands. Each environment shaped them in a different way.
Those who lived in high mountains developed strong lungs and sturdy bodies. Those who lived on the coast learned to read the weather from the waves and the wind. Those who lived in deep forests developed sharp hearing and silent movements.
And each group, over time, developed its own language—a language that reflected their environment, their needs, and their way of seeing the world.
Eleven thousand years, Li Yuan reflected, is enough time for a civilization to grow, develop, separate, and form a completely different identity.
The Ziran Village he once knew was probably in a region very different from this place. The humans he once knew were probably the ancestors of a completely different group. And in this place—Millbrook, Greenshire Valley, the Kingdom of Astoria—lived the descendants of humans who had evolved in different environments and conditions.
Different eye colors—blue, green, brown—instead of the solid black he remembered. Different hair colors—blond, brown, red—instead of the universal jet black. Different facial structures, different body types, and of course, a different language.
However, the essence of humanity remains the same, he noted with deep warmth. Anna's kindness, Thomas's leadership, Lila's innocence—these are universal things, transcending language and physical appearance.
Li Yuan sat back on the bed, this time not in a meditation position, but with his legs dangling like an ordinary human contemplating before sleep.
Ganjing allowed him to communicate with anyone, in any language, because true communication happens on a deeper level than words. Intent, emotions, meaning—all of these are a universal language understood by the soul, not by the mind.
But what does this mean for the mission to come?
If he decided to teach Daojing in this world, he wouldn't have to worry about language barriers. True understanding, as he had always believed, is transmitted through resonance, not through words.
A student who is truly ready to understand will feel the meaning behind the teachings, regardless of the language used. And Ganjing would facilitate that communication, creating a bridge of understanding that transcends words.
Perhaps, Li Yuan said to himself with a subtle smile, this language difference is actually a blessing in disguise.
Teaching through the resonance of meaning instead of through verbal doctrine. Transmitting understanding through presence instead of through lectures. Allowing Daojing to speak directly to the soul, without the distortions that often arise when wisdom is translated into words.
Like water that flows to find its own form in every vessel, understanding will find its own expression in every soul.
Li Yuan lay back down, pulling the simple wool blanket up to his chest. Outside the window, an owl hooted softly—a universal sound, understood by all living things as a call of the night.
Tomorrow, he would continue exploring this village. He would talk to more people, feel their resonance, understand their dreams and their fears. And all of it would happen in a language that transcended words—the language of understanding, the language of resonance, the language of the soul.
The world has changed, Li Yuan reflected as his consciousness began to flow toward the coming sleep, but the truth remains the same. And the truth does not need translation to be understood by an open heart.
In the deepening silence, Li Yuan felt the gentle resonance of the sleeping souls throughout the village—their simple dreams, their sincere hopes, their fragile but real peace.
And for the first time in thousands of years, he fell asleep with the feeling that he had found the right place to begin something new.
Something that would be spoken in the universal language of understanding.