On the tenth night of the seventh week, Li Yuan's hand trembled longer than usual before he extended it into the air around Hakeem.
Not from fear. From exhaustion.
An exhaustion he shouldn't be feeling—because this consciousness body wasn't a true physical body. He could eliminate this pain. He could make this projection feel no fatigue, no hunger, nothing that a human body experiences.
But he didn't.
Because the Understanding of the Body couldn't be learned from a safe distance.
I made this consciousness body as human as possible, Li Yuan thought as he felt the muscles in his arm scream in protest. The pain, the fatigue, the hunger—I let them all exist. Because without this, I would never truly understand what it means to live in a fragile body.
Understanding doesn't come from avoiding suffering. But from allowing oneself to feel it—completely, without escape.
He extended his hand into the air—not touching Hakeem, just... being there. In a radius close enough for resonance.
He released the Wrapping. Just a little. Like yesterday. Spreading it to the fifteen people.
The Understanding of the Body flowed out like morning mist—almost nothing, almost imperceptible.
And Li Yuan felt the price he was paying.
Not just physical exhaustion. But something deeper—like the very substance of this consciousness body was thinning a little each time he gave.
The Understanding of the Body in Ganjing has two faces, he realized with calm clarity.
The first face—the full effect. If I release it without restriction, I can make a body remember again. Wounds heal quickly. Fatigue disappears. The body returns as if it had never been hurt.
But that's too obvious. Too miraculous. People would know. The supervisors would know. And questions would come.
So I use the second face—a very weak effect. Not healing. Just... a gentle reminder. The body doesn't heal miraculously. It just sleeps a little sounder. Wakes up a little fresher. The wounds are still there, but not as bad as they should be.
Subtle. Explainable. Able to be dismissed as a coincidence.
But the price for this weak effect... is still real.
Thirty seconds passed. Li Yuan wrapped it back up. He took a breath—a breath he didn't technically need, but this consciousness body was programmed to breathe like a human.
His hands were still trembling. Worse than yesterday.
How much longer? he asked himself. How much longer can this consciousness body last before I have to let it go and form a new one?
Or... how long before I have no power left to form a new one?
He didn't know.
He just knew: tomorrow he would do it again.
And the day after. And so on.
Until he couldn't anymore.
Morning came with Hakeem waking up calmer than in previous weeks.
He didn't say anything. He just stood up, stretched his shoulders—a movement that had become a ritual—and then stopped.
He felt something. He didn't know what.
Li Yuan observed—not with his eyes, but with Wenjing. He captured Hakeem's confused intent.
Something is different. But what? Why do I feel... not as bad as I did yesterday?
Hakeem didn't ask the question out loud. He just gave a small shake of his head and prepared for the shift.
But as they walked to the furnace, he spoke—in a low voice, just for Li Yuan:
"I dreamed last night."
"About what?"
"About water. A flowing river. I was standing in it and the water was... cold but not painful. Just... soothing."
Li Yuan was silent. He didn't know what to say.
"I haven't dreamed in months," Hakeem continued. "Too tired for dreams. But last night... I dreamed. And I woke up feeling like I had actually slept. Not just passed out."
The intent behind his words—a gratitude that didn't know where to be directed. A sense of wonder. And... a small suspicion that he was trying to ignore.
"Maybe your body is finally starting to rest properly," Li Yuan said—in a neutral tone, not too interested.
"Maybe." Hakeem didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe there's something in the air these nights that's making everyone sleep better. Yara said she didn't wake up with her usual leg pain. Feng isn't coughing. Even Amira—who always trembles in the morning—looks calmer."
Too many people are noticing, Li Yuan realized with growing unease. I'm trying to diffuse the effect so it doesn't stand out, but it's just making more people feel that something is going on.
"Maybe you all just happened to sleep better," Li Yuan said. "Sometimes a body has a cycle. A bad week is followed by a slightly better one."
"Maybe."
But Hakeem's tone said he didn't believe in coincidences.
And Li Yuan knew: he had to be even more careful.
Or... or he had to stop.
That day's shift was heavier than usual.
Not because there was more work. But because Li Yuan's body—the consciousness body he had made as human as possible—was starting to pay a more tangible price.
"Lift!"
Li Yuan lifted. Or he tried to.
His right hand didn't respond as well as it had yesterday. His fingers didn't grip as strongly as they should have.
"Harder!" Hakeem whispered—not in anger, just a reminder.
Li Yuan exerted more will. His hand gripped tighter. But there was a delay—half a second—that shouldn't have been there.
They lifted the ladle. Walked. Stopped. Poured.
The same routine.
But something was different. There was a small crack in their synchronization.
"Are you okay?" Hakeem asked when they lowered the ladle.
"I'm fine."
"Your hands are trembling."
"Everyone's hands tremble here."
"Not like that. That's... that's different."
Li Yuan didn't answer. He didn't know what he could say without lying more or revealing the truth.
Hakeem looked at him—he couldn't truly look since Li Yuan couldn't look back—but there was an intensity in the silence.
"Li Yuan," he said softly. "If something is wrong, you can tell me."
"Nothing is wrong."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
A thin lie. But Hakeem let it go.
Because sometimes friendship means not pressing when the other person isn't ready to talk.
They continued the shift. Twenty-three more ladles.
And each ladle felt a little heavier than the one before it.
During the midday rest, Li Yuan sat alone—farther away than usual.
Not because he wanted to be alone. But because he needed to think about something.
I can't keep this up.
A simple statement. But a heavy one.
This consciousness body is starting to break down. Not fast. But enough to be felt. The trembling hands. The slower response in my legs. The mind that needs a little longer to focus.
I can fix this. I can use the Understanding of the Body on myself—make this consciousness body whole again. Strong again.
But if I do that, I'll have nothing left for Hakeem. For the others.
So I have to choose.
Myself. Or them.
Li Yuan closed the eyes that couldn't see.
This isn't a difficult choice, he realized with a strange calmness. It's not even a choice at all.
Because I came here to understand. And understanding doesn't come from saving oneself. Understanding comes from giving—even when giving hurts.
The Understanding of the Body teaches: a body that gives for other bodies doesn't lose. It just... changes form.
So I will keep giving.
Until this consciousness body can't anymore.
And then... then I'll see what happens.
He opened his eyes. He looked in the direction of Hakeem's voice—who was sitting not far away, talking to Feng about something unimportant.
And Li Yuan smiled a little.
You will never know what I'm doing for you, he thought. And that's okay.
Because seeing you live one more day—
—that is enough.
That night, when everyone was asleep, Li Yuan sat for longer than usual before acting.
He listened to the breathing of the fifteen people. He felt the rhythm of their sleep.
And he asked himself—for the last time—whether he should stop.
The answer came not with words. But with a feeling older than words:
No.
He wouldn't stop.
Not until he couldn't anymore.
So he released the Wrapping—a little more subtly than yesterday, because he had a little less to give.
The Understanding of the Body flowed out like the last breath of a dying candle—almost invisible, almost imperceptible, but still there.
To anyone sleeping here: your body deserves rest. Not a magical healing. Just... a slightly deeper sleep. A slightly calmer dream. A tomorrow that is a little more possible to bear.
Thirty seconds. Forty seconds.
Longer than yesterday—not because he was giving more, but because he had less strength to wrap it back up quickly.
Finally, he pulled it back. Wrapped it up.
His hands fell into his lap—heavy, as if they no longer belonged to him.
His breathing was shallower than it should have been.
The consciousness body spoke in a very clear language: I can't keep this up much longer.
"I know," Li Yuan whispered into the darkness. "But not yet. Not today."
He leaned against the wall. He didn't sleep. He just... existed.
He listened to Hakeem's breathing, which was a little calmer than it was last week.
He listened to Feng, who wasn't coughing tonight.
He listened to Yara, who didn't wake up with her usual small groan.
And he knew—with his entire broken soul—
—that he had made the right choice.
Even if that choice hurt.
Even if that choice was slowly destroying the consciousness body he was using to walk in this world.
Because the Understanding of the Body wasn't about keeping one's own body perfect.
The Understanding of the Body was about understanding that a body is a tool—
—and the most noble tool is the one used to serve other bodies.
Even if it meant wearing out.
Even if it meant breaking.
Even if it meant one day not being able to stand anymore.
Li Yuan closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, the shift would start again.
Tomorrow, Hakeem would wake up a little fresher than he should.
Tomorrow, fifteen people would endure a little more easily.
And tomorrow, Li Yuan's consciousness body would be a little closer to the limit.
But tomorrow was still far away.
Tonight, he just needed to last until morning.
And the morning after that.
And so on.
One night at a time—no more.
A breath went out. Slow. Heavy.
Around him, fifteen souls slept sounder than they should.
And no one knew why.
Not even the one who was giving.
Especially not the one who was giving.