The sixth week on the ice continent brought an awareness that made Li Yuan stop and reflect on something fundamental about himself.
He stood on top of a tall ice formation, gazing at the vast landscape that stretched endlessly in every direction. White, glittering ice, a pale sky, a constant wind carrying dancing crystals.
And he felt something through his Ganjing—the resonance of this place, the vibration of the Dao that spoke in a language needing no words.
But then he realized something else.
"I have always wrapped my Ganjing," he mused with a sudden, clear awareness. "Always. Since I first reached this realm, I have wrapped its passive effects with the Understanding of Wrapping."
He remembered the reason—which was still as valid now as it was thousands of years ago.
Ganjing was fundamentally different from Wenjing. Wenjing—the ability to hear intent, to understand the meaning behind words—only affected his own perception. He heard, but what he heard didn't change just because he was listening.
But Ganjing was different.
The passive effects of Ganjing influenced the world around him. When his Ganjing wasn't wrapped, his very presence changed the environment's resonance. People became more spiritually sensitive. Emotions became clearer. Living creatures felt a sense of tranquility—or sometimes unease, depending on Li Yuan's internal state.
"If I were to release the wrapping completely," he mused, staring at the horizon, "the passive effects of my Ganjing would spread in a very wide radius. Hundreds of kilometers. Maybe thousands."
"All humans within that radius would feel the change. Their emotions would become more intense. Their spiritual awareness would increase. Some might experience spontaneous enlightenment. Others might become overwhelmed by the sudden sensitivity."
"And that is not my right to do. It would change their lives in a way they didn't choose, that they didn't ask for."
He looked at his hand—a body of consciousness that had become his physical form, which looked human but was not human in a fundamental way.
"My Daojing... the cultivation system I developed over fifteen thousand years... sometimes I am in awe of what I have understood. With the depth I have achieved."
"Seventeen Understandings in Ganjing. One Understanding in Wenjing. Zhenjing—an inner world as vast as a continent. The ability to feel the resonance of the Dao in everything, to hear the intent behind words, to understand the three breaths of water."
"Sometimes there is a temptation to think: I created this. I built this system from nothing."
But then he stopped that thought—as he always did, with a discipline born from thousands of years of self-awareness.
"No," he corrected himself firmly. "I didn't create anything. I only discovered."
"The Dao already existed. Water already had three phases. Ice already stored memories. Resonance already existed in all living things."
"I didn't create this reality. I only became quiet enough to notice it. Patient enough to observe. Humble enough to realize that I knew nothing in the beginning, and that every understanding is a gift from the world, not an achievement of my superiority."
He sat on the top of the ice formation, the wind blowing through his black hair tied with a red cloth.
"This is true humility," he mused. "Not a false humility where one pretends not to know what they know. But a true humility that comes from the awareness that all knowledge is a discovery, not a creation."
"I am not superior because I understand water. I am just lucky—or perhaps persistent enough—to have spent fifteen thousand years listening to what water was trying to teach."
And then another awareness came—a deeper one, which made him silent for a long time.
"I didn't realize this humility when I was living it," he realized with a subtle shock. "I was just... living. I didn't think, 'I am being humble now.' I just naturally saw Daojing as a path of discovery, not creation."
"That is the sign of the truest humility—when it is so integrated that you don't have to think about it. When it is just the way you exist."
He smiled faintly—an awareness that even now, after thousands of years, he was still discovering things about himself that he wasn't fully aware of.
That afternoon, Li Yuan descended from the ice formation and returned to the area where the polar bear he had seen last week often hunted.
He found it again—a massive creature lying on the ice, resting after a meal.
Li Yuan approached carefully but without fear. The bear raised its head and looked.
Within a ten-meter radius—with his Wenjing unwrapped because Wenjing doesn't affect the world, only his perception—Li Yuan heard the bear's intent.
Assessment. An awareness that Li Yuan was approaching. A decision on whether this was a threat or not.
And then—something interesting. The bear felt Li Yuan's tranquility. The passive effect of Ganjing that still existed despite being tightly wrapped—a small trace that couldn't be completely eliminated because the spiritual presence itself had a quality.
The bear decided Li Yuan was not a threat and went back to resting, but its eyes never fully left him.
Li Yuan sat at a safe distance—perhaps ten meters—and observed.
"This creature has lived in this harsh environment for its entire life," he mused. "It has adapted in a perfect way to survive—thick fur, a layer of fat, intelligence for hunting, strength to dominate."
"It didn't 'create' these adaptations. Evolution—a process that has lasted thousands of generations—'discovered' the solutions to the problem of survival in an icy environment."
"It's the same principle. No one truly creates something from nothing. All just discover what is already possible, what is already available within the structure of reality."
"I discovered Daojing. Evolution discovered the polar bear. Water discovered three phases. Everything is a discovery in this sense—a realization of an already existing possibility."
The bear stood with a slow but powerful movement, then walked away to hunt again.
Li Yuan watched it go, carrying with him a new awareness about humility, about discovery versus creation, about how even after fifteen thousand years, he was still learning fundamental things about the right attitude for cultivation.
That night, Li Yuan wrote in his journal:
Today I realized something about true humility.
Sometimes I am in awe of Daojing—with seventeen Understandings in Ganjing, with one Understanding in Wenjing, with a vast Zhenjing. Sometimes there is a temptation to think: I created this.
But the deeper truth is: I didn't create anything. I only discovered.
The Dao already existed. Water already had its properties. Resonance already existed in all living things. I just became quiet enough to notice, patient enough to observe, humble enough to admit that I didn't know in the beginning.
And most interestingly: I didn't realize this humility when I was living it. I just... lived. That is the sign of the truest humility—when it is so integrated that it doesn't need to be thought about.
Daojing is an endless path. Depth after depth. Every understanding is a repetition—not in a repetitive sense but in a spiral sense. I return to the same question but from a deeper level.
Why does water flow? I asked this as a child. I still ask it now. But the depth of the answer is different every time.
It is a path that never ends. And I am grateful for that. Because the end of questions is the end of growth.
I will continue to discover—not create—until this body of consciousness can no longer maintain coherence, or until I decide to let go and become something else.
But for now, here, on the ice continent, I am still discovering. Still learning. Still in awe of the depths I have yet to touch.
Depth after depth.
Without end.
And that is good.
He closed the journal and looked at the sky that was never truly dark.
"How much deeper can I go?" he asked himself—a question that needed no answer because there was no boundary that could be known in advance.
"Only one way to know: keep going. Keep digging. Keep discovering."
"With a humility I didn't realize until today."
"With an awareness that I am not superior, just persistent."
"With gratitude for every new depth the world shows me."
The wind blew, carrying ice crystals.
And Li Yuan sat in the silence, his wrapped Ganjing still feeling the resonance of the world, his unwrapped Wenjing hearing the unspoken intent in a small radius.
A traveler who didn't create but discovered.
A cultivator who wasn't superior but humble.
A soul who had lived for fifteen thousand years but was still learning something fundamental today.
About humility.
About discovery versus creation.
About the endless path where every understanding is a repetition from a deeper level.
Depth after depth.
A spiral that never ends.
And that—he realized with quiet clarity—was the true Daojing.
Not a destination but a path.
Not an end but a process.
Not a creation but a discovery that is never finished.