Li Yuan reached a depth of one thousand meters, and for the first time in four thousand years, he felt something that made his soul tremble in an unexpected way.
True light.
Still faint, still dim, but unmistakably—this was genuine sunlight, not just a trace or echo that he had felt in the deeper depths.
Li Yuan stopped floating, allowing himself to sink into the moment. After meditating in absolute darkness for thousands of years, the presence of light felt like a reunion with a long-lost friend.
"The sun," Li Yuan whispered, and the word felt foreign on his tongue after so long.
Through his Water Understanding in the Wenjing realm, he felt a profound change in the water consciousness around him.
"You are different here," Li Yuan observed to the water.
"Yes," the water replied with a more lively, more energetic tone. "We carry direct warmth. We carry fresh energy from its source. We are carriers of an active life force, not just a memory of life."
Li Yuan felt the truth of that statement. The water at this level vibrated with a different vitality than the waters in the extreme depths. There was a more dynamic movement, a more active circulation, a sense of immediate connection to the surface world.
"How long has it been since I felt light like this?" Li Yuan mused.
Memories began to surface from his Memory Understanding. His last days in Millbrook, when he still lived as a human among humans. The sun shining on Lila's face when she laughed. The light reflecting off Anna's hair when she worked in the garden. The golden hour when Thomas returned from hunting, his silhouette framed by the warm light of the setting sun.
A sudden wave of longing washed over Li Yuan—not for the life that was lost, but for a connection to a world that was living and breathing, a world that was illuminated and warm.
"I have spent too long in the darkness," Li Yuan realized. "Not just physical darkness, but isolation from the rhythms and cycles that define normal existence."
With this revelation, Li Yuan began to understand why the journey back to the surface felt so important. It was not just a geographical movement, but a spiritual return to an engagement with a world connected to the cycles of light and darkness, warmth and coolness, growth and rest.
As Li Yuan continued his ascent, the light gradually became stronger. Not dramatic—the changes were still subtle—but an undeniable progression toward brightness.
And with the increasing light came an increasing diversity of life.
Li Yuan began to encounter schools of fish that moved with a different energy and purpose than the creatures in eternal darkness. They responded to daily rhythms, to cycles of feeding and resting that synchronized with the patterns of light that reached these depths.
"They live in a meaningful time," Li Yuan observed. "Not in the eternal present of the depths, but in a flow from the past to the future that is marked by natural cycles."
Li Yuan watched schools of fish that rose and fell in the water column, apparently following optimal light conditions or food distributions that varied with the time of day. Although their behaviors were still instinctive, there was a rhythm and pattern that connected them to larger cosmic cycles.
"The connection with time and cycles is an aspect of consciousness that I had forgotten," Li Yuan reflected.
In the timeless depths, where there was no change from day to night, no seasons, no natural markers of the passage of time, consciousness could become disconnected from the flow of existence that defines normal life.
"Perhaps pure spiritual cultivation, divorced from natural rhythms, is incomplete," Li Yuan pondered.
This thought was surprising to him. For thousands of years, he had pursued spiritual development that focused on transcending natural limitations, on achieving states of consciousness that were independent of physical conditions and temporal cycles.
But now, experiencing a return to the natural rhythms of light and darkness, Li Yuan began to question whether a complete disconnection from these cycles was truly beneficial for spiritual growth.
"Balance," he murmured. "It always comes back to balance."
Pure transcendence without a grounding in the natural world might lead to profound spiritual insights but insights that are disconnected from lived reality. Pure immersion in natural cycles without spiritual development might limit growth in consciousness and awareness.
"The integration of both might be the most complete path."
As Li Yuan approached a depth of five hundred meters, the light became unmistakably present. Not bright in the sense of surface illumination, but clear and definite, creating visible gradients and shadows that had been absent from the deeper waters.
And here, Li Yuan encountered something that made him pause in wonder.
Beauty.
Not sophisticated adaptations or survival strategies, but something that approached an aesthetic experience. Schools of fish that moved in formations that were graceful and pleasing to observe. Patterns of light filtering through the water that created visual experiences that were soothing and harmonious.
"Is this beauty for the sake of beauty?" Li Yuan wondered. "Or is it still purely utilitarian?"
With careful observation, Li Yuan could see that what appeared as aesthetic choices were still primarily functional. Schools moved in formations that were optimal for energy efficiency and predator avoidance. The light patterns were simply the result of the optical properties of the water and the marine life.
"But beauty emerges nonetheless," Li Yuan noted. "Whether intended or not, whether functional or aesthetic, beautiful experiences are the result."
This led Li Yuan to a deeper reflection on the nature of beauty itself.
"Beauty might not require conscious intention to create or appreciate. Beauty might emerge naturally from harmony and balance, whether in natural systems or conscious creations."
"And a consciousness capable of aesthetic appreciation might itself be a natural development of increasing complexity and awareness."
Li Yuan felt a profound gratitude for the opportunity to witness beauty in the natural world after a long period of sensory deprivation. Colors—even muted ones—felt vivid after years of monotone grays and blacks. Movements felt graceful after long stillness. Diversity felt rich after extended simplicity.
"Appreciation is enhanced through contrast," Li Yuan realized. "Extended periods of simplicity and deprivation make the beauty of complexity and richness more vivid."
"Perhaps cycles of withdrawal and engagement, simplicity and richness, solitude and community, are natural and beneficial for developing a full appreciation for all aspects of existence."
With these insights about the value of both solitude and engagement, both simplicity and complexity, Li Yuan continued his ascent toward the surface waters, anticipating a reunion with a world of full illumination and rich sensory experience—but carrying with him depths of understanding that were only possible through extended periods of darkness and silence.
The journey from the depths to the surface was becoming an integration of opposites—darkness and light, solitude and community, transcendence and immanence—into a fuller understanding of complete existence.