Li Yuan floated in absolute silence.
Around him, billions of tons of seawater moved in patterns that seemed random but actually followed laws older than human civilization. Deep currents, thermal waves, invisible microscopic movements—all were part of one living and breathing system.
But Li Yuan no longer saw water as just a fluid.
What is water?
The question arose in his inner silence like the first drop falling onto the surface of a calm lake. Simple, yet creating ripples that expanded without limit.
All this time, even in the Comprehension of Water in the Ganjing realm, he had only felt water as an inner state—softness, coolness, tranquility. Water was something that had an effect on his soul, something that resonated with a specific part of his consciousness.
But now, surrounded by the infinite ocean, Li Yuan began to see with different eyes.
Water is not just a fluid.
The realization came slowly, like dawn breaking behind the fog. Water that appeared as a flowing liquid was only a surface manifestation. Water—with a capital W—was something far more fundamental.
Li Yuan closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to spread into the ocean around him.
Flow.
Water flows. Not because it's forced, not because it's commanded, but because that is the very nature of Water itself. To flow is the way Water exists.
Li Yuan observed the ocean currents moving around him. Some moved north, bringing warmth from the tropics. Some moved south, bringing coolness from the poles. Some moved in large spirals that stretched for thousands of kilometers.
But all those flows were not the goal. All those flows were its way of being itself.
Humans flow in search of a goal. Water flows because flowing is its goal.
That understanding touched something deep in his consciousness. All this time, he had always felt the need to find a purpose—to understand the Dao, to reach a higher realm, to protect the people he loved. But water taught something different.
Adaptation.
Li Yuan imagined a drop of water falling from the sky. When it met a stone, it did not try to destroy the stone. It flowed around it. When it met the soil, it did not try to remain a drop. It seeped in and became part of the soil.
Adaptation is not weakness. Adaptation is the wisdom of understanding that form is temporary, but essence is eternal.
Li Yuan remembered the conflicts he had experienced. When he was young, he often felt frustrated when the world did not align with his understanding or expectations. He tried to maintain the form of his thoughts, to maintain his perspective, even when reality showed something different.
But water is never frustrated. Water is never angry with the container that changes its shape. Water accepts any form given to it, while still being water.
Maybe I've been too focused on the form of comprehension, instead of the essence of comprehension itself.
Seeping.
Water has the ability to enter the smallest spaces. Cracks between rocks. Pores of the soil. Even the space between the molecules of other substances.
Water does not do this with violence. There are no explosions, no coercion. Water does it with unlimited patience and gentleness.
Li Yuan thought about the way he interacted with the people in Millbrook. Anna, who was initially suspicious of him. Marcus, who was skeptical. Even Thomas, who, although kind, still needed time to truly trust him.
He did not force them to accept his presence. He did not show power to make them admire or fear him. He simply... was there. Helping when needed. Listening when they spoke. Sharing warmth when they needed it.
Like water seeping slowly into dry soil, his presence slowly became part of their lives.
Seeping is the gentlest form of love.
Merging.
Water has an extraordinary ability to merge with other water. A drop of rain that falls into the sea does not lose its identity—it becomes part of the sea. But the sea also becomes a little different because of the presence of that drop.
Li Yuan thought about the Sea of Souls in his Zhenjing. Five million different souls—humans, animals, plants, even universal souls like rivers and mountains—all merged in harmony without losing their individuality.
Like water. Every molecule remains itself, but together they create something greater than the sum of their parts.
To merge does not mean to be lost. To merge means to become part of something bigger while remaining oneself.
Li Yuan felt a vibration in his Comprehension of Water. Not an unstable vibration like when his Zhenjing was cracked, but a vibration that... was evolving.
Like a butterfly beginning to move in its cocoon, ready for transformation.
But this transformation was different from any he had experienced before. It was not about gaining new power or a new ability. It was about understanding what had always been there, but from a deeper perspective.
The water around him moved in patterns that became increasingly clear in his consciousness. Every movement told a story. Every flow whispered wisdom.
I am beginning to hear the language of water.
A language that does not use words, but uses movement. A language that does not use sound, but uses resonance. A language that has existed since the beginning of time, but can only be understood by those who are calm enough to listen.
Li Yuan allowed his body of consciousness to float with the current. Not fighting, not directing, just... flowing.
In that flow, he began to understand something new about himself.
All this time, even in his Daojing cultivation, he still had a subtle ego—a desire to maintain the identity of "Li Yuan who understands the Dao," "Li Yuan who is different from others," "Li Yuan who has cosmic responsibility."
But water has no ego. Water never says, "I am great water" or "I am important water." Water just... is water.
Do I dare to lose the identity of 'the special Li Yuan'?
The question arose from the depths of his consciousness like an air bubble rising from the seabed. Simple, yet it shook the foundation of the way he saw himself.
For eleven thousand years, he had built an identity as someone who was unique, who was different, who had an understanding that others did not. Even when he tried to be humble, even when he tried not to be arrogant, there was still a small part of him that was proud to be "the singular anomaly in the world."
But water taught something different.
The uniqueness of water is not because water tries to be unique. The uniqueness of water arises because water fully accepts its own nature without comparison to others.
Every drop of water is unique, but no drop of water feels the need to prove its uniqueness.
Li Yuan felt something shift in his consciousness. Not a loss of identity, but an expansion of identity. From "the different Li Yuan" to "Li Yuan who is part of the same Dao that underlies everything."
His Comprehension of Water vibrated with increasing intensity. Still in the Ganjing realm, but on the verge of the next level. Like water being heated approaching the boiling point—still water, but ready for transformation.
At a depth of ten thousand kilometers, surrounded by pressure that could crush diamonds, Li Yuan began to smile with his new understanding.
He was beginning to understand that to enter a new realm in the Comprehension of Water, he did not need to become stronger. He needed to become more like water itself.
Flowing without a goal other than flowing itself.
Adapting without losing essence.
Seeping with gentle love.
Merging while remaining oneself.
And most importantly—daring to lose form to find true essence.
The water around him moved in an increasingly complex harmony, like a symphony played by an orchestra of trillions of molecules. And for the first time, Li Yuan did not just hear the music.
He began to understand its meaning.