Li Yuan exists as a pure soul above the ocean—not "above" in a specific sense of altitude, but in a state that transcends rigid spatial constraints.
He senses the vastness below: the deep water, alive with a diffuse consciousness that carries the memories of countless millennia. And he senses the vastness above: the sky that stretches to the horizon, transitioning from blue to darkness, opening up to… what?
Li Yuan gently, carefully allows his awareness to expand, not with the intention to leave but with a curiosity to explore possibilities. He "looks" up—not with eyes but with a consciousness that senses dimensions existing beyond the immediate atmosphere.
And he sees—or, more accurately, senses—the stars.
They aren't just distant dots of light but... presences. Vast consciousnesses that burn with an incomprehensible intensity, existing on a scale that makes this planet seem tiny.
"I can go there," Li Yuan realizes, with a mix of excitement and something else. Awe tinged with caution. In his state as a pure soul, there are no physical boundaries to stop him. No atmosphere he needs to breathe. No distance that's too great for a consciousness that can shift without being tied to linear movement.
"I can leave this planet. I can travel to the stars in the sky. I can explore the vastness of the cosmos with a freedom that's impossible for a being tied to a physical form or even a body of consciousness."
The idea is intoxicating. The possibility of an adventure that goes beyond anything he's experienced in sixteen thousand years. The discovery of consciousnesses that are completely alien, of phenomena beyond his current understanding, of depths that are literally cosmic in scale.
But then, with a discipline born from millennia of cultivation, Li Yuan pauses. He allows the impulse to settle and examines the desire with an honesty that doesn't judge but also isn't swept away by enthusiasm without reflection.
"Why do I want to go to the stars?" he asks himself. "Is it because I've exhausted everything this planet can teach me? Is it because there's no more depth I can explore here?"
"Or is it because of… novelty? The attraction of the new, the unknown, the exotic?"
He feels into this question with his full awareness, and the answer emerges with an unambiguous clarity.
"It's not time yet."
Not "never." Not "I can't." But "not yet."
This planet—with its diverse landscapes, the richness of the consciousnesses that inhabit it, and the deep history stored in stone, water, and bone—still has so much to teach. "I have only explored a tiny fraction. The ice continent, a few cities, a few communities. But there are entire regions I haven't touched. There are cultures I haven't encountered. There are depths I haven't dived into."
More fundamentally, his Comprehension of Body is just beginning its journey. "Twenty thousand years, that's the approximate timeline to bring Body from Ganjing to Wenjing with the same depth as Water. I haven't even started focused cultivation on that. I've only acknowledged that the season for Body has come."
Going to the stars now would be a distraction. It would be running from the commitment he just made to the deepening that needs to happen here, on this planet, in a context that's familiar yet still vast in its possibilities.
Li Yuan feels the truth of this reasoning seep in.
"Someday, maybe, I will go. When the timing is right. When I have learned what this planet has to teach—or at least reached a natural pause in that learning. When cosmic exploration is the next logical step in my evolution, not an escape from my current commitment."
With that decision, the impulse to leave for the stars eases. It doesn't disappear—it remains a possibility in the background, an available option—but it's not pressing, not demanding immediate action.
Li Yuan turns his awareness back to the planet—to a world that, while familiar from having inhabited it for thousands of years, is still vast in scope and rich in diversity. He makes another decision about how to exist in this state as a pure soul.
"During my cultivation on the ice continent, I allowed the passive effect of the Comprehension of Water in Wenjing to extend twenty meters. That was appropriate for a stable, isolated environment where there was no risk of overwhelming unprepared consciousnesses."
"But now, traveling through potentially populated regions, which are diverse in the nature of the beings that inhabit them, I need to adjust."
He focuses on the Comprehension of Water, which is the only Comprehension existing in the Wenjing realm, and wraps it with the Comprehension of Wrapping. This isn't complete suppression, but a tight containment that ensures the individual effects of the Comprehension of Water—the ability to "hear" the intention behind words, to sense the specific meaning of water—don't leak into the environment.
"The Comprehension of Water in Wenjing will only be active when I intentionally activate it," Li Yuan decides. "When I choose to engage with a conversation, to listen with the depth that Wenjing provides. It won't automatically, passively spread its influence without intention."
However, he doesn't wrap it completely. He allows something to remain active—something different from the individual effects of the Comprehension of Water: the universal passive effect of the Wenjing realm itself. This isn't an effect of a specific Comprehension, but a property intrinsic to the level of consciousness he's reached. It applies because he exists in Wenjing.
And this universal effect is profound in its simplicity.
He can sense the intent behind words. When someone speaks, Li Yuan can tell whether they are lying or sincere, afraid or confident, angry or peaceful, with simple clarity and without judgment.
He can hear the meaning of nature. Rain doesn't just sound like drops hitting a surface but like a gift, the generosity of the sky sharing its water. The wind doesn't just feel like pressure but sounds like a warning, a messenger carrying information. Silence isn't just the absence of sound but patience, a waiting presence.
He can feel the rhythm of existence, sensing the "melody" of a movement before it happens, feeling the intention to move before the body actually moves. He can anticipate with an accuracy that isn't prediction but a direct sensing of an emerging pattern.
These effects are passive. They're always active and universal in that they apply to everything within the radius, not selective or requiring activation. Li Yuan decides to keep this radius at twenty meters. It's small enough not to overwhelm, yet broad enough to provide a meaningful awareness of the environment, a balance between containment and openness.
With this adjustment complete, Li Yuan senses the new configuration of his spiritual presence: an invisible pure soul, tightly wrapped except for the universal passive effects of Wenjing within a twenty-meter radius. It is capable of activating the Comprehension of Water with intention but doesn't leak influence by choice.
"This is the appropriate configuration for a journey," he acknowledges. "One that allows the freedom to explore without imposing on a world that didn't ask for my influence."
Then, with the decision not to leave the planet and the adjustment to his passive effects complete, Li Yuan begins to... move. Not move in a conventional sense, not traveling with a linear trajectory or a physically measurable speed. But shifting, transitioning from one location to another in a mode unique to a pure soul—shifting position in reality with intention, with a consciousness not bound by spatial constraints.
He doesn't choose a specific destination like, "I'll go to this city" or "I'll visit that region." Instead, he lets the movement be random. Not in the sense of chaos, but free in the sense of not being directed by a plan or agenda.
"I'll move and keep moving," Li Yuan decides. "Exploring this planet with complete freedom. Seeing what's there, encountering what emerges, allowing the journey to unfold without trying to control the destination."
"And when I arrive at a place that resonates, that feels right in a way I can't explain but will recognize when I sense it—then I will pause. I will remain. I will begin the next phase of cultivation."
With that intention, he begins, shifting from the northern ocean to a southern mountain range, from the mountain to a valley, from a valley to a desert, from a desert to a forest. He has no pattern or logic that an external observer could discern. It is just a flow, a movement guided not by a map but by an internal sense of what's appropriate, of what's calling.
And as he moves, the awareness of scale starts to sink in.
This planet—which he has inhabited for sixteen thousand years but explored only a tiny fraction of—is vast. Its diameter is about twelve thousand seven hundred fifty-six kilometers on one axis, twelve thousand seven hundred fourteen on the other. The circumference is around forty-two thousand kilometers if traveled along the equator. Its surface area is five point five four two billion square kilometers.
"Five billion square kilometers," Li Yuan muses with quiet awe. "And in thousands of years, I've probably seen… what? One percent? Less?"
The ice continent is vast, but it's only a fraction of the polar region. A few coastal cities. A few inland communities. A tragic battlefield. Scattered islands. But there are entire continents he hasn't touched, entire oceans he hasn't explored in depth, cultures and languages and ways of living he doesn't even know exist.
This planet is still a mystery, still vast in what it contains, and still rich with possibilities for encounter, for learning, and for deepening. This awareness doesn't make him feel small or insignificant. On the contrary, he feels excited, curious, and grateful that there is still so much to discover, so much yet to be explored.
And he continues to move. Shifting, transitioning, and flowing through regions at a constant, immeasurable speed. Sometimes pausing for a brief moment to sense a specific place, sometimes moving without stopping for miles or hundreds of miles. Maybe he has already circled the planet multiple times—he isn't keeping precise track because tracking isn't the point. The point is the movement itself, allowing the journey to unfold, trusting that he will know when the right place appears.
As he moves, the universal passive effects of Wenjing remain active within a twenty-meter radius around him. Sensing intent. Hearing the meaning of nature. Feeling the rhythm of existence. Not imposing, not changing, just present, aware, and participating in the fabric of the world with a subtlety that isn't disruptive.
Li Yuan—the invisible pure soul, free from the constraints of form, moving through the planet with the intention to discover a place that will resonate—continues his journey.
Without a fixed destination.
Without a rigid timeline.
Only with an open awareness, a lively curiosity, and a willingness to let the mystery reveal itself in its own timing.
Five billion square kilometers.
Vast. Rich. Full of possibility.
And somewhere in that vastness, a place is waiting. A place appropriate for the next phase. A place where the Comprehension of Body can begin its long evolution toward Wenjing. A place that, when Li Yuan arrives, he will recognize not with logic but with a deep, undeniable resonance.
But for now: movement. Exploration. A journey without attachment to an arrival.
Depth after depth.
Discovery after discovery.
Without end.
As always.
And the stars—shining in the sky, calling with the promise of cosmic adventure—wait with patience.
Because they will still be there.
When the timing is right.
When this planet has taught what it needs to teach.
When the journey to the cosmos is the next natural step, not an escape from the current commitment.
Someday.
But not today.
Today is about this planet. About the five billion square kilometers waiting to be explored. About the mystery that's close but not yet revealed. About the depth that's accessible but not yet dived into.
And Li Yuan—with the patience born from sixteen thousand years, the wisdom to recognize that timing is everything, and the freedom to move but also the discipline to remain—continues his journey.
Shifting.
Flowing.
Becoming.