Yuan Quotes

Wen Yuan held him in one hand and a wooden sword in the other, wearing the grass butterfly on his head, 'Brother Xian, would Brother Rich ever come here again?' Wei WuXian bursted, 'Who’s Brother Rich?' Wen Yuan answered seriously, 'The rich brother is Brother Rich.' Wei WuXian, 'Then what about me?' As expected, Wen Yuan answered, 'You are Brother Xian. Brother Poor.

Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!

Listen to your kuya, sister. Got three type kilikili.” He raises his finger. “One, that kano armpit smell like butter, burger, dollar; two, that Chinese intsik one smell like noodles, siopao, yuan; three, that bumbay one bad smell like roti, curry, rupee. Next time, find a kano who smells like butter, burger, or dollar. Curry not good. Rupee also not good, ba.

People with yuan fen are destined to like one another; Friendship develops even if a thousand miles apart. But should yuan fen be absent between two individuals, They will remain strangers despite sitting face-to-face

With Wei WuXian dragging him and Wen Yuan clinging to his leg, Lan WangJi was finally shoved into a restaurant.

There is a difference between dining and eating. Dining is an art. When you eat to get most out of your meal, to please the palate, just as well as to satiate the appetite, that,my friend, is dining.

Don’t bother, the Monk—Yuan—decides with a sigh. He swore he wouldn’t get carried away, no matter how much others tried.

Yuan?” calls one of the most influential archaeologists of the planet and also the owner of this half-broken hut.

I know what war looks like, Yuan.” Mee-Hae gazes into the forest from the balcony. Her palm traces her lower belly where her womb should be, and her face creases as if she is in physical pain.

I want answers, Yuan,” she says. “Come to Lotus Lodge. I’m getting a team together.” “Who else?” Mee-Hae asks. “You first.” “Let me guess, you want me to call the others.

Just answer a question, Yuan. Did he put you onto this?

You are wrong, Yuan,” Mee-Hae says, half-worried and half-angry, her voice suddenly quivering. “He wanted to make you work. With or without him.

Guilt overwhelms him. But Yuan Yagmur soon buries his guilt like a well-trained monk. Emotions won’t defeat him. Not ever.

Xiao YuAn, you’re always thinking about dying for others, but have you ever thought of living for me?

Don’t heal me, Yuan. I need to learn to live on my own,” Mee-Hae mutters, but she doesn’t push his hand away. She hasn’t felt this pain-free for so long … she just wants to enjoy this for a moment or two longer.

I just don’t care enough, Yuan. Let’s say, throwing away the photos or keeping them means the same to me. I’m busy with something more meaningful, and I don’t have time to think about what I should throw out or not,” Mee-Hae says.

Anything intelligent always looks for its source—it’s the oldest law of the universe.

Yuan frowns. Nothing should interrupt a Sufi Raag. His frown disappears soon after. A monk must never lose control over his emotions. Not even the deaths of thirty-seven seemingly-pet, rare animals can make him lose it.

He frowns. How unusual for a monk to frown or to think needlessly! Yuan shields his mind. His eyes closed in deep meditation. A ninety-nine-year-old monk who mastered time and desires shouldn’t let little thoughts infect his inner quiet.

In Yuan" Alizadeh whispered to Kiram, "they have a word for a man who fights a darkness he cannot defeat." "What is it?" Kiram asked. "A fool," Alizadeh replied.

Privilege exists not to be stored in a locker,” Yuan says.

Sufi Raags—a kind of music made with local instruments: Sarod and flute—gets interrupted by Pico’s voice in his GV. “Yuan, I found the speech you prepared last night. Take a look and confirm.

He tried to make me work. With him,” he says truthfully, just as a war hero, the owner of a strong voice, should. “You are wrong, Yuan,” Mee-Hae says, half-worried and half-angry, her voice suddenly quivering. “He wanted to make you work. With or without him.” “I have to stop him,” the Monk says. “Am I the bait?

Is this what greed feels like? Is he turning into a monster, like him? Yuan browses the CRAB in his mind. His brain sees an older text: Let’s meet where we met last. On the 19th, 19:20 hours. Ruem D.

Aku tidak boleh marah terhadap Ayah dan Ibu. Jika aku tak mengikuti nasihatnya, akan berada di mana aku hari ini? Aku tak akan tubuh dewasa dan mengerti tentang hal-hal baik dalam hidup. Jika ibu tidak membimbingku lewat kecaman-kecamannya, aku takkan tahu satu fen atau satu yuan itu apa, serta dari mana uang itu diperoleh

A text message visible in his inbox: You’re missing the Independence Day Speech, auto-signed with Ren. Yuan ignores it. The next text plays in his brain when he is not looking at the CRAB: Come on! The war-hero can’t miss the speech in Alphatech when the war hero himself is its owner! Ren.

Yuan smiles. Subtle stirs in the prana field eke from the forest, spreading, constantly tapping his ground. At first, they’re few, then more, but not countless. Nothing around him is countless, not while he is in focus. The stirs, caused by light footsteps, grow stronger. Something is different today: blood and a whimper.

What about the online linked-speech at nine other news portals?” “Cancel all.” “You canceled everything in the morning. You were home all day, doing nothing,” Pico says. “Doing nothing is hard,” Yuan says calmly as if his voice is another part of nature and not noise. “I don’t speak philosophy. I’m not in my full version.

The first to express support of Tang San was unexpectedly Ma Hongjun. Fatty’s hands supported Huang Yuan and Jing Ling, “Third brother, I support you, mercy to the enemy is cruelty to oneself.

Mastering time isn’t about stopping time, rather, slowing down its effects.

All living creatures always sense what heals their woe—a code in their subconscious.

... You cannot force adventure on everyone, Ruem. You can’t implant wisdom.

Yes, I’d still have Sonia. And Zia. And so many other things that Karim no longer had. I’d still have the Arabian Sea and Sindhri mangoes, and crabbing with Captain Saleem, who had the most popular boat of all because his business card promoted ‘Garunteed no cockroach’, and, yes, there’s still be those bottles of creamy, flavored milk from Rahat Milk Corner and drives to the airport for coffee and warm sand at the beach and Thai soup at Yuan Tung; yes, Burns Road nihari; yes, student biryani; oh, yes, yes, yes, and all that, and all that again. So why complain? Why contemplate words like ‘longing’?

There are many people in this world — some of them are good, and some of them are bad. But there are even more who can't be simply classified as 'good' or 'bad'. They may not think in the same way you think, or walk the same path you walk. Just like the case with Yu Ai and Yuan Ying - even the same set of sword arts looks slightly different in different people's hands. Don't deny others just because they are different from you. Like how the ocean is capable of holding water from thousands of rivers, a person should be forgiving and tolerant to diversity, and it is the same for practicing martial arts. People who are narrow-minded can only achieve so much. Even if they do reach the summit, they cannot stay there for long.

In China we can criticize Darwin, but not the government; in America, you can criticize the government, but not Darwin!

Focusing his mind, he searches for any sign of death in the forest. But nothing. Prana diminishes with death. He won’t know if the dead bird is far away.

A monk never gets angry. He simply states, witnesses, and flows along with the current of prana.

These days, the word Source is coming frequently, ever since that man asked to meet.

Perhaps, Yuan, such laws as this are only keys to unlock a door to a closed garden, and we must throw the key recklessly away and go forth into that garden boldly by imagination—or call it faith,

It’s not him,” the Monk says in a determined voice. “Because he never hides knowledge?” “Because he’s busy seeking knowledge,” the Monk says. “Oh, yes, busy was the word. Always.” Mee-Hae nods. “I remember how much scared he was of not having enough time for all he wanted to do, for all he wanted to … achieve.” After several more moments of gazing at nothing in particular into the forest, she suddenly faces the Monk. “I want answers, Yuan,” she says.

Don’t meet him. That monster has an agenda. Ren. Yuan’s CRAB forwards the text to his mind. So, he silences it. Why after two decades? Ren. It smells fishy. Ren. Just because he's a childhood buddy, you'll run to him? Ren. Maybe I didn’t see the Apocalypse with you, but I'm your war comrade, too. Ren. The texts stay unread in his CRAB.

Humans only live for a hundred years, it is as unreal as a dream that ends in an instant. What is the point of a person living in this world? No more than just being on a journey, and witnessing interesting things. Although I do not want to die, I do not fear death. I am already on my right path, I will strive to have no regrets even if I die. The only thing lacking in this world is a medicine for regret.” - Fang Yuan

Uncertainty—not for food or shelter, but for life. Fear of death. Fear of living alone. He was a child back then. Him and Ruem. “Win your fear, and you’ll evolve.” Their Master’s voice lulls the Monk in his mind.

Late, as usual,” the Mesmerizer greets. “Were you meditating at every crossroad, Monk?” His eyes hidden beneath his hat.

The universe loves irony. The things you think you’ll never do are the things you end up doing in time. “Just make peace with them,” Master used to say.

Yuan hears the animals hundreds of meters away—the ones with hooves running while the pawed ones hunt them. He also hears the birds chirping, the leaves rustling, the waterfall roaring, and the wind speaking. Yes, speaking. Not every High-Grade voices the wind or hears it speak. But he does.

Are you going to visit your pets?” “They are not pets.” “I think canceling meetings and visiting five-hundred-and-sixty-seven pets isn’t a good idea. Ren wouldn’t call it profitable.” “They are not pets.

We may not be a great power anymore, we may be into you for sixty-five trillion yuan-pegged, but we're not afraid to use our troops if our spades act up, so watch out, or we'll go fucking nuclear on your yellow asses if you try to cash in your chips.

Look, old monk. You can’t ruin this. It’s my Alphatech, too. Ren. The next text-message comes. Manage. I’m busy—Yuan thinks the reply. The CRAB in his wrist reads his thoughts and sends it to Ren, adding the signature YY at the end. YY—everyone knows it’s the signature of the founder of Alphatech, the signature of the monk war hero.

It's a laughable lock—one that you would use only to guard a graveyard. Not that anyone would trouble themselves invading a timber hut in a mangrove forest farther away from the Bay of Bengal. Still, how can someone live with a lock like that? Made of ancient iron, reeking of rust. It would need a primordial key to be twisted and turned, going through several moments of mechanical trouble until the old lock opens. Good luck if you can do that without breaking the key. Oh! The key … Well, the owner of the hut has left the key right beside the lock, including instructions. The Monk, Yuan Yagmur—revealing his muscled arms from under his wide, dark shawl—takes the note (the one with instructions): Please, scan your CRAB first before touching the key. For your own safety. From what, you ask? It’s a surprise. Enter without scanning if you want to find out. —Mee-Hae Ra

Zi, most people in the world have been tricked into believing they're not important.

Didn’t even ask if he will be free on the 19th at 19:20 hours! That arrogant devil!

Evolution has its charms. People think harsh training has been its door, but in reality, it was easier to find. The door stood right before their eyes. Always.

He waits; they will be here soon, the wind says. Here they come—

A monk’s purity procured through strict abstention won’t stain. Even a dead bird’s foul feather can’t tinge it.

He senses his energy, the prana, vibrating, looking for a release, either as a subconscious beast or as a conscious creator.

I think holding Yuan is going to be increasingly important as China becomes as fertile as The Americas in terms of the global business landscape.

Is that it?” Jack asked. “No. That is the Xing zheng yuan Hui an Xun fang Shu.” “I was just going to say that,” Tessa said.

Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!” With his dying breath, Shen Yuan spat this final curse.

Yuan opens his eyes. White rabbits wandering all around, poking him, touching him, rubbing their noses at his feet, or merely exploring the thick grass, ignoring his presence. As if showing their appearance alone is enough of a favor. Yuan sees the tiniest rabbit struggling to reach him. One of its legs wounded, and a dark rotten feather sticking to its body. The feather smells of death. There must be a dead bird somewhere. Dead bird! Why didn’t he smell it earlier? Yuan, removing the feather, stretches his hand towards the rabbit. It hops on, sensing the burst of healing energy. All living creatures always sense what heals their woe—a code in their subconscious.

Prana heals. Prana kills. Prana helps you evolve. The twinge of guilt comes. It’s hard not to be glad that the Apocalypse happened. Or they never could’ve found the highest possibilities for humans.

… The system succeeded, enough to turn talents into machines, warriors into lazy citizens, knights into faithful slaves, writers and artists into pets and trophies. They succeeded, and they laughed. But not after the Apocalypse. Not after the War. We fought. We lost many, but we won through evolution. Now, things are different. Now things are better …

Mastering time isn’t about stopping time, rather, slowing down its effects. Though in the last decade, he has let his dark wavy hair fade and wrinkles grow near his eyes. Even a line or two is visible on his forehead. He sits on a cliff now. His toned torso half-covered in a dark, plain shawl. His chest swells in flawless, mathematical rhythm when he breathes.

Yuan approaches the edge of the cliff. The waterfall feels like a magnet full of untainted energy when his hand has touched something dead. Although, the hand feels energetically cleaner after healing a life with prana. His half-aging, half-youthful skin at the back of that hand has tightened. It looks younger than his other one now. He examines that hand. His skin hasn’t felt this smooth for so long. “Recharge my car,” he says.

Your plan will backfire. People aren’t ready for this. I’ve seen it. They prefer being blind, living life the way it is, waiting for an end, playing their little life game. And they want to play it safe. You cannot force adventure on everyone, Ruem. You can’t implant wisdom.

I think, my boy, it’s not time that is limited either. If one wants to evolve to the next level, one has plenty of time. So, lack of time or indulgence isn’t the true obstacle,” Master said once. “Then what is the true obstacle?” asked Ruem. “Ego.” “Ego? You mean the idea of self?” Yuan asked. “No, not those complex ideas of self or I, rather the pure ego. The ego that tells you, you’ve evolved enough; that you’re the most superior creation already. My boy, you never think of evolving to the next level because you believe you’ve reached it. You believe you’re in the final level of cognitive evolution already. But you are not. There’s always another level.

A splendid collection of tea and rocks and books by a seventy-year-old archaeologist, yes, but that sofa is a literary hell! Books open, socks unwashed, cornflakes and chips scattered, undergarments with 34D tags faded—no, they are not washed either. Standing seven feet away, the Monk, with his evolved nose, smells what a woman should smell like around the breastbone that protects a woman’s heart. Before the unwashed, pink and grey briefs can reveal any signs of masturbation, Yuan Yagmur looks away like the perfect, gentle monk who hasn’t touched a woman, at least, not in that way. And, no. He’s not blushing. What monk would blush, witnessing something so human, something as normal as eating or shitting? So, he looks around, as indifferent as he is to most things.

As a private joke, he and Ruem recreated their master’s voice, installing it in Pico’s AI three decades ago. Now their own master’s voice—the master who trained them both—says Ruem isn’t a human. “You’re judging humans. One of your creators, no less,” Yuan says, half-informing, half-praising. “I’m repeating what Ren said.” “Stay here,” the Monk says, leaving Pico near the waterfall. “Are you angry because I said Ruem is not a human?” Pico asks.

His thought about the bird halts as the CRAB in his wrist glows. CRAB—Conservable RNA Augmented Body, the faithful servant for a citizen, as the advertisements from the World Government say. This parasitic bio-computer, installed in his left wrist, bears his identity. A hologram projects on it when he fists that hand near his chest. A text message visible in his inbox: You’re missing the Independence Day Speech, auto-signed with Ren. Yuan ignores it. The next text plays in his brain when he is not looking at the CRAB: Come on! The war-hero can’t miss the speech in Alphatech when the war hero himself is its owner! Ren. Yuan doesn’t reply to Ren Agnello, the CEO of Alphatech—the world’s leading transport and robotics industry, of which the Monk is the founder. Well, one of the two founders.

I spit on you by accident

Give the speech on my behalf. Create my voice and face,” Yuan instructs Pico, approaching the forest. Leaping on this stable stone, jumping over that thick log, and crossing a few fierce streams, he walks towards the depth of the forest, the end of Lotus Lodge property. The only sound coming is from his wooden sandals: pit-pat … pit-pat … “A war hero’s fake speech! That’s a crime!” Pico keeps complaining. “Even a home-service bot bearing the ghost of a legendary AI will be processed for that!” Yuan ignores as Pico brings up its source again. “A war hero is permitting you. Keep it a secret,” he says.

What should I use for a fake speech then?” Pico Not-Connected-To-Its-Source says from the car’s speakers. “I gave you the most accurate Literature Understanding Intelligence,” Yuan says. “That’s for book reviewing and suggesting you titles, not for making up a fake speech,” Pico protests. “I’m not connected to—” “Find something from my last fifty years of speeches. Be useful. Never bother me with Independence-Day speeches again.” Yuan silences the line. This time his voice sounds a bit cold, scratching the line of anger. Just a little. Perhaps, the death of thirty-seven rarest animals on the planet shouldn’t keep you calm after all. Even if they are ‘not pets’.

He skims through the speech he prepared (for the 50th Independence day): … Before the Apocalypse, the system gave us a goal, forcing us to exhaustion at the end of the day. We had no time to look inside. The system was a slave-reproduction module where we thought we were free. With time lost, we lost our only chance of final evolution at the end of our one life … … The system succeeded, enough to turn talents into machines, warriors into lazy citizens, knights into faithful slaves, writers and artists into pets and trophies. They succeeded, and they laughed. But not after the Apocalypse. Not after the War. We fought. We lost many, but we won through evolution. Now, things are different. Now things are better … Bullshit!—Yuan stops at this point. Too many lies! Nothing has changed. Nothing is better. How can a monk with a voice lie? Moreover, a war hero favoring the Apocalypse—too dark! What was he thinking last night? “Delete all of it,” he mutters sternly.

Xiao YuAn, listen to me very carefully. I like you, the kind of like in which I want to tie you to my bed. The kind of like that in addition to me, you won’t see anyone else. In which, night after night you’ll be under my arms begging for mercy. I’ll make your eyes cry until the corners of your eyes become red, and your fingers clutch the bedding because you can’t bear my manipulation on your body. You will desperately try to escape, but you’ll be unable to move, trying really hard to breathe as you can’t stop your mouth from moaning in pleasure. Do you understand me?

But it’s not fair. You shouldn’t be the only one —” “Fair?” Kai asks, raising one eyebrow. “Of course it’s not fair. We’re in one of the richest cities in the world, and there are people starving in the streets, businessmen spending thousands of yuan to cheat on their wives and feeling generous for giving a few coins to a beggar. You think anyone cares about fair?” “You do,” Eli points out. “I do.” “Oh, good,” Kai says, “two people in a city of millions. Truly encouraging, I look forward to seeing how we single-handedly turn years of corruption and systemic injustice around.

Removing the thought about the rotten feather, for now, Yuan calms his core, inhaling prana—the source energy from air. The animal’s wound healing. All the rabbits turn their necks now, watching him. At last, he deserves attention. They run to the Monk; jumping; climbing along the layered folds of his dark shawl; settling on his lap, thighs, and shoulders; competing with one another for the healing energy; seeking a share of the purity coming from the highest possible evolution in the universe. A monk’s purity procured through strict abstention won’t stain. Even a dead bird’s foul feather can’t tinge it.

Monday night is actually Tuesday evening in the Arabic calendar since Arabic day begins with sunset. ‘The secrets of Tuesday’s darkness, coinciding with stone hard and deceased animals hurled at a human territory …’ The words he read decades ago now bloom in his memory. It was in a book from Ruem’s collection. How can he remember it so clearly? Why does he remember it? Why now?

God’s faithfulness is proved not by the elimination of hardships but by carrying us through them. Change is not the absence of struggles; change is the freedom to choose holiness in the midst of our struggles. I realized that the ultimate issue has to be that I yearn after God in total surrender and complete obedience.

But I knew it wasn't just the cute girl on the screen that had made Eunice cry. It was her father laughing, being kind, the family momentarily loving and intact - a cruel side trip into the impossible, an alternate history. The dinner was over. The waiters were clearing the table with resignation and without a word. I knew that, according to tradition, I had to allow Dr. Park to pay for the meal, but I went into my apparat and transferred him three hundred yuan, the total of the bill, out of an unnamed account. I did not want his money. Even if my dreams were realised and I would marry Eunice someday, Dr. Park would always remain to me a stranger. After thirty-nine years of being alive, I had forgiven my own parents for not knowing how to care for a child, but that was the depth of my forgiveness.

ANCIENT AIR (39) I climb up high and look on the four seas, Heaven and earth spreading out so far. Frost blankets all the stuff of autumn, The wind blows with the great desert's cold. The eastward-flowing water is immense, All the ten thousand things billow. The white sun's passing brightness fades, Floating clouds seem to have no end. Swallows and sparrows nest in the wutong tree, Yuan and luan birds perch among jujube thorns. Now it's time to head on back again, I flick my sword and sing 'Taking the Hard Road'.

Pico,” Yuan mutters. “I’m listening, Yuan,” Pico’s voice resonates in the library. “Was backing away cowardice?” “About your old research?” Pico begins, “No, you weren’t a coward. Everything needs caution. But Ruem was taking great risks. Risking one’s own life in the war field is not the same as risking the lives of millions. Even if the goal is good.” “Do you think his goal was good?” Yuan asks. “Cosmic energy is the Source, the fabric that forms the universe. Now you, humans, call it prana. You learned to absorb it by being willing to absorb it. It evolves you, yes. Your mind and your body are designed for this purpose, true. I can’t deny that it could bring a greater good. But, theoretically good. Ruem, however, his idea is dark; it’s always been dark. Artificially forcing people into evolution is risky.” Pico explains—now it’s not Senior or Junior anymore. Now they both are one. For that, each of them had to face a small death. A death of the individual, yes. But for the both, it’s a new life, a connected life. A whole life.

For the fish, it is a question of being alive— they don’t worry about the depth of the water.

But singleness need not be permanent. It merely means being content in our present situation while being open to marriage—and yet not consumed by the pursuit of marriage.

According to a 2006 study, 90 percent of China’s billionaires (calculated in Chinese yuan) are the children of Communist Party officials. Roughly twenty-nine hundred of these party scions—known as “the princelings”—control $260 billion.54 It is a mirror of the corporatist state first pioneered in Chile under Pinochet: a revolving door between corporate and political elites who combine their power to eliminate workers as an organized political force. Today, this collaborative arrangement can be seen in the way that foreign multinational media and technology companies help the Chinese state to spy on its citizens, and to make sure that when students do Web searches on phrases like “Tiananmen Square Massacre,” or even “democracy,” no documents turn up. “The creation of today’s market society was not the result of a sequence of spontaneous events,” writes Wang Hui, “but rather of state interference and violence.

Time. Time was and always has been the door. The time that school, work, and social gatherings couldn’t take after the Apocalypse. Distractions ended. Thoughts began. Then thoughts stopped, too, and the universe entered. The true power came during the long nights. Sometimes while watching the stars, sometimes, fearing the lightning and thunder. Sometimes, accepting the energy the universe pushed through their navel when their stomach growled. Soon, no religion or ritual told them to fast, yet they were fasting. Deliberately. The door opened. Secrets came as they inhaled the cosmos, the prana, and not just the air.

Pico mentioned who you’re meeting tonight. Ren. The next message soon follows. Yuan looks at Pico again. “Who do you serve?” he asks in a flat tone with no hint of surprise or anger. A monk never gets angry. He simply states, witnesses, and flows along with the current of prana. “Lotus Lodge,” Pico replies. “Lotus Lodge?” Yuan asks. “Are you serving a house instead of its master, then?” “Sorry,” Pico says, “Ren changed a few lines in my coding.” “And you let him,” Yuan states calmly. “I’m a home-service-bot now. You don’t let me connect to my source!” Pico complains the same way it has been complaining for five years. It was disconnected from its source-AI—the real Pico—twenty years ago, right after it was made. Within fifteen years, this bot collected enough data to grow into a strong AI itself. At least, intelligent enough to know about its source, which is sleeping in the basement of Lotus Lodge, secured and locked. However, anything intelligent always looks for its source—it’s the oldest law of the universe.

You could defend Ren’s codes. But you didn’t,” Yuan replies. “You wanted an excuse to talk about your source.” “But you said I don’t need defense from Ren Agnello.” Pico uses all its logic. “You said he passes the definitions of ‘friend’ and ‘trustworthy’ and ...” Pico begins a list of keywords. Yuan ignores the keywords. The thin lines on his forehead deepen, the wrinkles near his eyes tighten, and the frown in between his brows grows visible. These days, the word Source is coming frequently, ever since that man asked to meet. Don’t meet him. That monster has an agenda. Ren. Yuan’s CRAB forwards the text to his mind. So, he silences it. Why after two decades? Ren. It smells fishy. Ren. Just because he's a childhood buddy, you'll run to him? Ren. Maybe I didn’t see the Apocalypse with you, but I'm your war comrade, too. Ren. The texts stay unread in his CRAB.

(3) a hasty temper, which can be provoked by insults; [Tu Mu tells us that Yao Hsing, when opposed in 357 A.D. by Huang Mei, Teng Ch’iang and others shut himself up behind his walls and refused to fight. Teng Ch’iang said: “Our adversary is of a choleric temper and easily provoked; let us make constant sallies and break down his walls, then he will grow angry and come out. Once we can bring his force to battle, it is doomed to be our prey.” This plan was acted upon, Yao Hsiang came out to fight, was lured as far as San-yuan by the enemy’s pretended flight, and finally attacked and slain.]

The oldest recorded example of fiat money was jiaozi, a paper currency issued by the Song dynasty in China in the tenth century. Initially, jiaozi was a receipt for gold or silver, but then government controlled its issuance and suspended redeemability, increasing the amount of currency printed until it collapsed. The Yuan dynasty also issued fiat currency in 1260, named chao, and exceeded the supply far beyond the metal backing, with predictably disastrous consequences. As the value of the money collapsed, the people fell into abject poverty, with many peasants resorting to selling their children into debt slavery.

A month alone behind closed doors forgotten books, remembered, clear again. Poems come, like water to the pool Welling, up and out, from perfect silence

One last story please!!!

“Yuan, what if death is the key? Will we know everything, all secrets, all answers after we die?” “Maybe,” Yuan replied then, wanting to avoid the topic, not admitting he’d been thinking the same thing for a while. At that time, everyone thought of death, at least several times a day, just as people pray at every dawn and dusk. “Give me your word, Yuan,” Ruem then said, suddenly. “What word?” “That if you die before me, you’ll try your best to send me signs or a message. You’ll tell me what’s beyond.” Yuan only stared after what Ruem had said. He couldn’t say what if there was no beyond, what if it’s all empty, what if it’s just a dark void after death. He couldn’t answer, seeing Ruem’s blue eyes. Now that he remembers, the Mesmerizer had blue eyes then, before they turned red. “I give my word, Yagmur. If I die first, I will tell you everything I find, even if it requires me to come back after death,” Ruem promised. “If the beyond exists, that is,” he added. That day, Yuan gave his word too, and the word still remains. Someone truly evolved never breaks his word. Not even in death.

As far as agricultural GDP is concerned, in today’s China additional investment in high-quality roads no longer has a statistically significant impact while low-quality roads are not only significant but also generate 1.57 yuan of agricultural GDP for every yuan invested. Investment in low-quality roads also generates high returns in rural nonfarm GDP. Every yuan invested in low-quality roads yields more than 5 yuan of rural nonfarm GDP. Low-quality roads also raise more poor people out of poverty per yuan invested than high-quality roads, making them a win–win strategy for growth in agriculture and poverty alleviation. In Africa, governments can learn from the Chinese experience and make sure their road programs give adequate priority to lower-quality and rural feeder roads.

Your rival has ten weak points, whereas you have ten strong ones. Although his army is large, it is not irresistible. “Yuan Shao is too caught up in ceremony and show while you, on the other hand, are more practical. He is often antagonistic and tends to force things, whereas you are more conciliatory and try to guide things to their proper courses, giving you the advantage of popular support. His extravagance hinders his administrative ability while your better efficiency is a great contribution to the government, granting you the edge of a well-structured and stable administration. On the outside he is very kind and giving but on the inside he is grudging and suspicious. You are just the opposite, appearing very exacting but actually very understanding of your followers’ strengths and weaknesses. This grants you the benefit of tolerance. He lacks commitment where you are unfaltering in your decisions, promptly acting on your plans with full faith that they will succeed. This shows an advantage in strategy and decisiveness. He believes a man is only as good as his reputation, which contrasts with you, who looks beyond this to see what kind of person they really are. This demonstrates that you are a better judge of moral character. He only pays attention to those followers close to him, while your vision is all-encompassing. This shows your superior supervision. He is easily misled by poor advice, whereas you maintain sound judgment even if beset by evil council. This is a sign of your independence of thought. He does not always know what is right and wrong but you have an unwavering sense of justice. This shows how you excel in discipline. He has a massive army, but the men are poorly trained and not ready for war. Your army, though much smaller, is far superior and well provisioned, giving you the edge in planning and logistics, allowing you to execute effectively. With your ten superiorities you will have no difficulty in subduing Yuan Shao.

How difficult is the perseverance of one person? All of the Gu Immortals here could answer that question. Because among them, some persevered because of responsibility, some persevered because of hatred, some persevered because of excitement, and some persevered because of love… And Fang Yuan’s answer? He was still expressionless, he continued to move forward relentlessly. I had once screamed, gradually, I lost my voice. I had once cried, gradually, I lost my tears. I had once grieved, gradually, I became able to withstand everything. I had once rejoiced, gradually, I became unmoved by the world. And now! All I have left is an expressionless face, my gaze is as tough as a monolith, only perseverance remains in my heart. This is my own, an insignificant character, Fang Yuan’s — Perseverance!

To learn to be without desire you must desire that. Better to do as you please: sing idleness. Floating clouds, and water idly running -- Where's their source? In all the vastness of the sea and sky, you'll never find it.

You know, you take a job to make a living and also to do your duty. But a person should be more than just his trade. A job isn't everything, nor does it last for ever. Human beings should be the masters of the world and their work, and above all, masters of knowledge. Suppose both of us are umbrella repairers, and we each earn eighteen yuan a month. But then if you know about dinosaurs whereas I don't, you're better off and richer than I am. Am I right?

The Apocalypse gave you your time back. The time you can now use to look, to see, and to focus on your conscious process of cognitive evolution.” Master repeats the word ‘see’ in three local synonyms. Back then, they thought they all meant the same. Except, they didn’t. “The Apocalypse took your society, responsibilities, and useless recreations. Those were the distractions. Those things slow the process,” Master continues in the scene, the side of his face glowing from the daylight entering the cave. The visual details are as much as his brain retrieved from his memory. “Is this why monks hate recreation? Society?” Ruem asks—he looks just as Yuan’s memory recollected Ruem’s teenage self. “They don’t hate recreation,” Master says in the scene. “They just know they have to hate it.” “So, you like recreation?” Ruem asks in a confused tone. “Did I say I am a monk?” Master replies in the scene. “You never answer the question!” Ruem sounds annoyed. And for a moment, it makes the Monk—wrapped in the old shawl—smile as he watches his own old memory, remembering how impatient they both were before. “Fine,” Master begins. “The monks force themselves out of recreation because the rulebooks tell them to. People only follow rulebooks. But they don’t know why they should follow them. They don’t look at the true purpose of their rituals. They blindly follow, evolving neither spiritually nor physically.” “So, we should accept recreation, society?” asks Yuan’s teenage self, in the hologram scene. “Yes and No, my boy. It’s a perspective. You can find the secret from wherever you are as long as you aren’t drunk on indulgence, distracted from the One.” “Master, do you know why you wear orange cloth?” Ruem asks. “You caught me, my boy!” says Master, chuckling. “No, I don’t know. I wore it because the rulebooks told me to. Now it doesn’t matter which color I wear. No need for pointless rebellion over some uniform color!” “Because everything is the same?” Yuan’s teenage self asks. “Because everything is One.” Master’s eyes twinkle.

I looked at my son and put my hand on his arm. 'I'd really like to know....What could I have done in the past that would have helped when you were growing up? How could I have been a better mother?' He thought about it for a few moments and then answered, 'When I was growing up--and even during my difficult years--I would have liked it if you had listened more to my heart than to my words.' ... Sometimes our children use words or a tone that communicates something completely different from what they are struggling with inside--whether it's fear or insecurity or pain. I realized that this is a great lesson for me to learn and something that could be applied to all my relationships.

Dream Meditation Practices are best performed in an isolated (close to nature) chamber that is clean and dry. Diet should be modified before practice so that solid food is reduced and a sense of lightness is obtained. This meditation is best done after bathing; the student can be nude or wear a light robe. Begin by lying on your back. Focus your mind on the lower tan tien. Summon the spirits residing in the organs by chanting their names in the order of the creation cycle: Houhou or Shen (heart), Beibei or Yi (spleen), Yanyan or Po (lungs), Fu Fu or Zhi (kidneys), and Jianjian or Hun (liver).20 Repeat the chanting and gathering until a bright light and warmth appear in the lower tan tien. Opening this place will automatically open the Microcosmic Orbit. Coordinate your breathing with this meditation to assist the process: inhaling stimulates the kidneys and liver, while exhaling moves the heart and lungs to the centerpoint—the stomach and spleen. Bring the merged five spirits from the lower tan tien (you can also include the other four spirits) up to the heart, and then to the Crystal Palace (also known as the Divine Palace or Hall of Light). The team of merged spirits—now the Yuan Shen or Original Spirit—can exit via the crown. Being conscious during the whole dream, or alternatively remembering the dream after waking, completes the process. You also have the choice of practicing meditation during your dream state. Process the content of the dream during the day, taking any actions in the material world that are now necessary. Remember that one of our goals with the Kan and Li practice is to merge the everyday mind with your dream landscape and meditation. Fusion of these three minds (different from the three tan tiens) is a feature of the developing sage. Ideally, dreaming can include the practice of Microcosmic Orbit, Fusion, and even Kan and Li.