After the 道脉 (Dào Mài) spread and stabilized the entire Zhenjing, Li Yuan felt his awareness drawn to one space he had not yet visited with proper attention.
Not because he was avoiding it. Not because the space was less important. But because… of timing. Because of a sense that this space required a different approach, one that could not be forced.
The Space of Chaos Qi Understanding.
Li Yuan stood at its threshold and felt an immediate difference from all the other Understandings he possessed.
The other seventeen Understandings—including the Understanding of Chaos, which was the philosophical sibling of Chaos Qi—were about principles, about states, about ways of being or ways of experiencing.
But Chaos Qi… was different.
It wasn't a principle. It wasn't a state.
It was energy. A substance. A thing that had its own independent existence, even if that existence was… slippery. Difficult to define.
This is my only Understanding that is about energy itself, Li Yuan mused as he stepped across the threshold. Not spiritual energy that flows through consciousness but energy that can… manifest. That can take form. That can become something.
The interior of the Space of Chaos Qi Understanding was chaos in the most literal sense.
There was no stable landscape. No consistent geometry. Just… roiling. Shifting. A constant transformation from one state to another without a predictable pattern.
Colors that had no name appeared and dissolved. Forms that had no precedent crystallized and shattered. Sounds that followed no harmonic principle emerged and faded.
And at the center of all of it—or what felt like the center, even though the concept of "center" was almost meaningless here—there was a presence.
Chaos Qi itself.
Not contained. Not tamed. But… recognized. Acknowledged. Given space to exist within the Zhenjing without being forced to conform to a structure.
Li Yuan approached with a caution that was not fear but respect—an awareness that this was something volatile, unpredictable, something that could be destructive if not approached with the proper mindset.
He felt the energy and a memory came.
Before—thousands of years ago—I tried to understand Chaos Qi more deeply.
I sat in meditation, trying to penetrate its nature, trying to grasp its essence with the same firmness as I grasped Water or Silence or other Understandings.
But every attempt ended in… not frustration but an awareness that I was approaching it with the wrong mindset.
Chaos Qi did not want to be grasped. It did not want to be understood in a traditional way. It resisted analysis. It evaded categorization.
And then I realized: that is its nature. That is what makes it Chaos Qi.
So I stopped trying to understand it deeply and instead I just… acknowledged it. Accepted it. Allowed it to exist in my Zhenjing without trying to fully comprehend it.
The memory faded and Li Yuan found himself back in the present moment, standing before the Chaos Qi that was roiling with untamed energy.
And now, with the 道脉 flowing through the dual Core of Awareness, with the Body bringing a somatic dimension to all meanings, he felt a new understanding of Chaos Qi.
This isn't about complete understanding, he recognized. This is about recognizing its function. Recognizing its purpose.
Chaos Qi is… pure possibility.
That awareness hit with a force that was almost physical—even though nothing here was physical.
Pure possibility, Li Yuan mused, feeling the truth of that statement seep in. Not a possibility that is already defined, already shaped by intention or expectation. But a possibility that is completely raw, that has not yet taken any form, that can literally become anything.
He extended his awareness and felt the Chaos Qi with a different kind of attention than before.
This energy had no structure. No definite direction. It was chaos in the most fundamental sense—the absence of order, the absence of pattern, the absence of predictability.
But that absence was not a deficiency. It was… an openness. A potentiality.
Chaos Qi contains unlimited potential, Li Yuan understood. Because it is not committed to any particular form, it can become any form. Because it doesn't follow any particular pattern, it can generate any pattern.
But with that potentiality comes an extreme instability. An energy that can become anything is also an energy that cannot remain stable as something. It is constantly shifting, constantly transforming, constantly avoiding crystallization into a permanent form.
And then—a deeper insight.
In the Zhenjing, Chaos Qi is a bridge.
A bridge between what is and what can be. Between actuality and possibility. Between the manifested and the unmanifested.
When I need to create something new—a body of consciousness, a spiritual technique, or a manifestation of an understanding—I draw from Chaos Qi. I take raw possibility and shape it into something actual through intention and understanding.
That is its function. That is why it exists in my Zhenjing even though it resists being understood in a traditional way.
Li Yuan felt something else—a subtle but persistent sense that he didn't fully comprehend but which he could not ignore.
A responsibility.
Not an obligation in a heavy or burdensome sense. But… a calling. A sense that Chaos Qi was not meant to remain only in his Zhenjing.
This is an energy that can… be spread, he realized with a mixture of excitement and caution. Not to everyone—that would be dangerous, because not everyone has the stability or wisdom to handle pure possibility without being overwhelmed.
But to… a few people. To those who are ready. To those who can use raw possibility to create, to heal, to transform in a beneficial way.
There is… a duty. Or perhaps not a duty but an opportunity. A chance to share what I have discovered, to give others a tool that can enable their own evolution.
But then—an immediate and firm awareness.
But not now.
Li Yuan felt the truth of that statement with unambiguous clarity.
Now is not the time to spread Chaos Qi. Not because the world is not ready—though that may also be true—but because I am not ready.
I have not yet fully understood how to transmit this energy safely. Not yet fully grasped how to teach others to work with pure possibility without being consumed by its chaos.
And more fundamentally: my focus now is on deepening the Understanding of Body. On allowing the twenty thousand years to bring the Body from Ganjing to Wenjing.
Chaos Qi will wait. It's not going anywhere. And when the right time comes—perhaps thousands of years from now, perhaps more—then I will know. And I will act.
With that decision, the sense of responsibility eased—not gone but settled into the background, acknowledged but not pressing.
Li Yuan observed the Chaos Qi for a moment longer, feeling its energy roil and shift with a pattern that had no pattern.
And he noticed something curious.
Even though he was not actively deepening his understanding of Chaos Qi—even though he had decided that now was not the time for focused cultivation on this Understanding—this space was still… expanding.
Very subtly. Almost imperceptibly. But detectable to a keen awareness.
Every second, I am understanding them—all eighteen Understandings—a little more deeply, Li Yuan realized with quiet wonder. Not through deliberate effort but through simply existing in the Zhenjing, through being present with full awareness.
Cultivation doesn't only happen when I'm sitting in focused meditation. It also happens passively, constantly, through sheer presence.
But that growth… is not uniform. It's not even across all Understandings. Some—like Water and Body that are now a dual Core of Awareness—grow faster because they receive focused attention. Others—like Chaos Qi—grow more slowly, in the background, without being the centerpiece.
And that's… okay. That's natural. Not all Understandings need to grow at the same rate. Not all need to receive focused attention simultaneously.
He felt peace with that recognition—an awareness that he didn't need to force equal development of all Understandings, that allowing some to remain in the background while others came to the foreground was a valid approach.
Chaos Qi is special, he mused as he prepared to leave this space. It is the beginning of potential—the template for creation, the foundation for manifestation.
But special doesn't mean urgent. Special doesn't mean it needs immediate attention.
It will wait. And I will return when the timing is right—not just for me but for the world that might receive what I have to share.
Li Yuan left the Space of Chaos Qi Understanding and returned to the center of his Zhenjing.
And here, at the nexus where all Understandings converged, he settled into a familiar position—not cross-legged but in a posture that was natural for his consciousness.
He decided to continue his deepening—not by immediately rushing into a new exploration but by allowing the integration of everything that had happened in this cultivation cycle.
The 道脉 had formed. The dual Core of Awareness had stabilized. All Understandings had been touched by the transformation.
Now it needed… resting. Allowing. Letting the changes seep in until they were no longer "changes" but simply "how things are."
But within that resting, I will maintain full awareness, Li Yuan decided. And to do that, I need to adjust the flow of time.
This was something he rarely did—manipulating the temporal experience within the Zhenjing.
Normally, time in his inner world flowed at a different rate from the outer world. Sometimes faster—ten inner years in one external day, like when he first developed the Understanding of Body in Yangzhou. Sometimes slower—a single minute that felt like an eternity when his awareness expanded to the point where every moment could contain infinity.
But for this cultivation—for the deepening that was to come—he decided to sync.
I will make time in the Zhenjing flow at the same rate as time outside, he decided. One inner second is one outer second. Not faster. Not slower.
This will make the process more… grounded. More connected to external reality. And it will prevent me from losing track of how long I have actually been sitting in the ice amphitheater on the ice continent.
But then he remembered something—a property of the Understanding of Silence that he had not fully appreciated before.
When I am in full focus—when the Understanding of Silence is active with complete intensity—time in my inner world feels… non-existent.
It's not that time stops. But that the awareness of the passage of time dissolves. Past and future collapse into an eternal present. Duration loses meaning.
That is the effect of a complete Silence—a stillness so profound that even the flow of time becomes irrelevant.
Li Yuan considered this carefully.
If I allow Silence to become dominant, I could exist in a state where time doesn't matter. Where I could cultivate for what feels like a moment but is actually years—or the other way around.
But that would also mean losing my grounding. Losing my connection to the natural rhythm of the world.
After a long reflection, he made a decision.
For now, I will maintain the sync with outer time. One-for-one. Grounded. Connected.
When I am ready for the deep meditation that might last hundreds of years—when I find the proper place to bring the Understanding of Body from Ganjing to Wenjing—then I can allow Silence to alter the temporal experience.
But for now, for this integration phase, the sync is appropriate.
With that decision, he adjusted his awareness with a subtle precision born from thousands of years of practice.
And the temporal flow in the Zhenjing aligned with the temporal flow outside.
One inner second.
One outer second.
Grounded. Connected. Present.
Li Yuan breathed—a spiritual gesture that mimicked a physical breath—and settled into a state that was not sleep, not meditation in the traditional sense, but… presence.
Pure, undistracted presence.
The 道脉 was flowing. The dual Core of Awareness was pulsing. All eighteen Understandings were existing in a harmony that was not perfect but was alive.
And in the background—subtle, acknowledged but not pressing—Chaos Qi was waiting.
Pure possibility.
Unmanifested potential.
An energy that would, someday, when the timing was right, spread beyond the Zhenjing and into the world.
But not now.
Now was the time for a deepening that continued in silence.
For an integration that occurred not through action but through being.
For a cultivation that happened not through effort but through presence.
Depth after depth.
With patience.
With the wisdom to know when to act and when to wait.
With an awareness that was grounded in a temporal flow that was synced with reality.
And with gratitude for a journey that never ends.
As always.
Without end.