In a nameless depth, where the pressure of water seemed to become time itself, Li Yuan was tossed about like a fallen leaf in an unending wind. His Zhenjing—the inner world that had once been so orderly and serene—was now cracked in a thousand places.
The first crack appeared like a whisper.
Water.
His first understanding trembled. Not with its familiar serenity, but with a brittle vibration, like ice beginning to melt at the end of winter.
Water was flow. Water was adaptation. But now the water in his soul was frozen, trapped in a grief that had nowhere to go.
Why couldn't I save them?
Anna's voice calling for Lila. Elena's laughter. Marcus's desperate scream.
Five hundred and twenty-three faces appeared one by one in the cracks of his Zhenjing. Each face was a wound. Every name was a knife that sliced deeper.
Stillness.
His second understanding echoed like a cracked bell. The stillness that had once provided space for reflection was now an empty void filled with voiceless screams.
In this stillness, Li Yuan began to remember.
Not in an orderly way. Not chronologically. Like fragments of a mirror reflecting faces from different pasts.
Ye Ling, his mother, who died when he was ten years old. Her soft hand on his feverish brow.
"Yuan-er," her voice like a spring breeze, "the world will teach you many things. But never forget—true love is never truly lost."
Loss.
The understanding that was born on the battlefield between Qin and Lu now vibrated with a painful intensity. Loss was another form of love—that's what he had once understood. But now, loss felt like a black hole that swallowed everything.
Li Haoming, his father, who taught him the basics of martial arts with endless patience.
"True strength, Yuan-er, isn't about what you can destroy. It's about what you can protect."
I couldn't protect anyone.
The Understanding of Body—which allowed him to form a consciousness body—began to shatter. Like drying clay, his spiritual body, which was usually solid, began to crack and crumble.
Mu Yi and Fan Tu. His friends from Qinglong Academy. Their faces were still young, full of hope for the future.
"Li Yuan was always different," Mu Yi had said with a warm smile. "He didn't seek power. He sought something deeper."
What was the point of that depth if I couldn't save the ones I loved?
Wrapping.
The understanding that allowed him to conceal his true power now felt like a prison. How many tragedies could he have prevented if he hadn't been so afraid to show who he truly was?
Meilang, the zither player in Qinlu, who played notes not meant to be heard but to be understood.
"The best music," Meilang had said, plucking the strings with scarred fingers, "is born from the deepest silence. Not from the loudest noise."
But this silence only brings pain.
Doubt.
The understanding that was born in Master Cheng's noodle shop now became a storm in his soul. Doubt was no longer about being open to not knowing—but about questioning everything he had ever believed about himself.
Chen Weiqi, the palace scholar who saw him as a phenomenon to be understood.
"Are you aware," Chen Weiqi had once asked, "that your presence changes how people see the world? That you are a catalyst for a transformation that even you don't fully understand?"
What transformation? I only brought death to those who trusted me.
Breath.
The understanding that taught him that breath was the vibration that connected everything now felt heavy. Every spiritual "breath" felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.
The soldiers on the Qin-Lu battlefield. Their faces full of doubt as he walked among them.
"Who are you?" a young soldier had asked with tired eyes. "Why does your presence make us question everything we believe in?"
"I am just someone who believes there is another way besides violence," he had answered then.
But in the end, I couldn't avoid violence. I couldn't avoid loss.
Sky.
The understanding of boundless freedom now felt like a prison without walls. What was freedom for, if that freedom meant nothing when the people he loved died?
Xiao Mei, the refugee child he met on his journey to Lu. Her small eyes full of trust.
"Uncle," she had said in a voice as clear as a tear, "will the war end soon? Will my daddy come home?"
Li Yuan never knew if her daddy came home. The war ended, but how many families were shattered?
Body.
The understanding that taught him that the body was a temporary home that held every story was now almost completely shattered. His consciousness body, usually as stable as a rock, trembled like water in an earthquake.
But in that destruction, something strange happened.
Memory.
The understanding he had developed as Li Qingshan in Hexin began to vibrate with a different tone. Not with pain, but with warmth.
Chen Daming, his loyal student. Xiaoli, Chen Daming's eight-year-old great-niece.
"Grandpa Uncle," Xiaoli had said with sparkling eyes, "tell me again about the tree that learned to dance with the wind."
Li Yuan, as Li Qingshan, had smiled. "The tree learned that dancing with the wind doesn't mean having weak roots. Quite the opposite—because its roots are strong, it can dance without fear of falling."
Home.
The final understanding he had achieved as Li Qingshan began to shine with a soft light. Home was not a physical place. Home was a feeling. Home was the people we love.
Anna hugging Lila. Marcus laughing while telling a story about hunting. Elena teaching Lila how to weave. Thomas speaking with the wisdom of a caring leader.
They are still with me.
The realization came like dawn slowly illuminating the darkness.
The souls he had saved with his Understanding of Soul in their final moments—they were not gone. They existed, hidden within the resonance he had created, protected for a duration of five thousand years.
Elena was still laughing somewhere in the invisible spiritual vibrations. Petra was still dreaming about her school. Henrik was still planning the ideal colony.
And Lila...
Lila was still with him.
Not in physical form. But in a deeper form—in the soul protected by the Understanding of Soul, in a love that was never truly lost.
All the understandings in his Zhenjing began to vibrate with a new harmony. Not the perfect harmony of before, but a cracked yet beautiful harmony—like kintsugi, the art of repairing broken pottery with gold.
The cracks in his Zhenjing didn't disappear. But it was from those cracks that the light began to enter.
The water started to flow again. Stillness gave space for a deeper understanding. Doubt became an openness to learn from pain.
And slowly, very slowly, his consciousness body began to solidify again.
It wasn't like before—it was more fragile, with the cracks visible like silver lines. But it was solid.
Li Yuan opened his eyes in the dark seabed. The water around him no longer felt cold. The pressure no longer felt crushing.
He began to rise.
Not with the perfect strength of his past. But rising with a deeper understanding of what it means to be a human who loves and loses, who fails and learns, who falls and rises again.
Carrying the cracks in his soul like a wound beginning to heal—not returning to how it was before, but becoming stronger in the places where it had broken.