Wenzi Ji · 05.21.2026

Today’s trigger came, on the surface, from a now very popular claim: the world is virtual, everything is just code, like a VR world, like a game, like a simulation. I was of course interested at first, because it connects with many modern imaginings of technology, AI, virtual reality, and digital universes. But what truly kept me thinking was not the surface judgment of "is it code or not," but this: even if the world really is virtual, so what? Why does code exist? Why does simulation exist? Why does a rendered world exist? And so the question immediately stopped being "what material is the world made of," and returned once more to a deeper layer: why does existence exist?

I soon realized again that all this time I have been saying "change matters." This is of course not wrong, and to this day I still think it is right. Change, fluctuation, cycles, generation, withdrawing from phases, arising and ceasing, rhythm—these are all the most important structural clues of the real universe. The problem is, when I pushed "change" deep enough, I found it is still not the final word. Because "change matters" can explain many things—why there is a world, why there is experience, why there is growth, why there is the generation of wisdom—but it still does not directly answer: why does the question of "meaning" itself exist? Why do people ask about "meaning"? Why are people not satisfied merely to live and change, but must keep asking "what is all this for, after all?"

So what I truly pushed forward today is not "what is the meaning of life," but: why do people ask about "the meaning of life"? Why does the question of "meaning" itself arise? Reaching this point, I feel more and more that meaning is not an object the universe places outside, waiting for people to find it. Meaning is more like the question that naturally arises when existence begins to reflect upon itself within a life. That is, people do not merely live—people also know they are living. People do not merely undergo change—people turn back to look at change, question change, ask why they themselves are within change, ask why there is birth, death, loss, pursuit, and not-knowing. This capacity to "turn back and ask" may itself already be no ordinary function, but a deeper kind of presence.

At one point I even felt that meaning itself is perhaps not, first of all, an answer, but the very act of "questioning meaning." Because the moment existence begins to look back at itself within a life, the question of "meaning" appears. In other words, meaning is not necessarily a ready-made final answer, but more like the gap that cannot help but open when life opens toward something deeper. This gap forces people to keep asking, keep living, keep searching, keep bearing, keep approaching that deeper thing within change.

Following this line further down, I thought again of Buddhism, the Daoist path, and even the I Ching. I of course know these traditions are deep, and that they have all given the highest expressions to questions of "existence," "practice," "emptiness," "the Dao," "being," and "ceaseless becoming." But today I see more and more clearly: most of them bring people to the edge of the source—to emptiness, the Dao, nature, suchness, being—and stop at this layer. They are very good at explaining why people suffer, why people cling, why people are dragged away by surface phenomena, and why they should return to that deeper background. They are also very good at telling people not to lose themselves any longer in the world of objects, but to return to the source. But what I press on today is another layer: why is the source this way? Why is "the Dao" such a Dao? Why does "emptiness" manifest as wondrous existence? Why is "being" not purely static, not purely halted, but manifests as change, infinite possibility, questioning, imperfection, and a dynamic whole? On this point, I feel that Buddhism, the Daoist path, and the I Ching have all given extremely strong hints, yet none has truly and completely said through "why it is this way."

The I Ching’s hint to me today is especially clear. Before, I understood "the limitless gives birth to the supreme ultimate, the supreme ultimate gives birth to the two modes, the two modes give birth to the four images…" down to the layer of Buddhism, the Daoist path, and Being, and felt it was already deep enough. Today, looking back again, I find what is truly hard is not "what is the limitless," but: why does the limitless not remain the limitless forever, but give birth to the supreme ultimate? Why does the source not stay forever in the undivided whole, but manifest as a world that can be divided, changed, circulated, and cycled? The I Ching gives me one very strong direction, which is "ceaseless becoming is what is called change." This sentence seems to hint: if the source is real, it is not a dead-static "nothing," but an undivided-yet-dividable, unmanifest-yet-manifestable, unmoved-yet-movable whole possibility; and once it manifests, once it lives, once it is real, it naturally carries the power of "begetting." Only, even so, the question of "why even ceaseless becoming itself becomes the fundamental structure"—the I Ching, I still feel, has not said through completely.

Today there was also one especially important turn: for one instant I suddenly felt that perhaps the final answer is not to terminate the question of "why," but precisely to let "why" keep being askable. Because once all answers are sealed, given, and closed once and for all, change stops, pursuit stops, approaching stops, recognizing stops, experience stops, and the generation of wisdom stops. Seen this way, the reason the source seems answerless, inexhaustible, impossible to describe completely, may not be because it is incapable, empty, or without content—but precisely because it must preserve an aliveness: a structure that lets questioning continue, lets cycles continue, lets approaching continue, lets existence keep manifesting itself. Thinking of this, I naturally connect it to the principle that "when the moon is full it wanes; when water is full it overflows." The truly great perfection may not be a statically sealed fullness, but a greater perfection in which waxing and waning, circulation, change, imperfection, and incompletion all stand present at once.

And so I kept pressing: why is the source this way? Why not fully full, fully settled, fully sealed from the start? Why must there be change, infinite possibility, questioning, imperfection? After a great detour, I suddenly returned to the root of Being. Because I feel more and more that what truly answers all of this is not "change" itself, but "being." Change matters, of course—but it is not primary. "Being" is primary. Because there is being, there is change; because there is being, there is manifestation; because there is being, there is questioning; because there is being, there is infinite possibility; because there is being, there is the question of meaning; because there is being, there is the unfolding of all wisdom and existence.

Reaching this point, I would keep asking: then why is the source this way? Why must it keep being? The answer I can currently settle on today is: because it must keep being. If it were not so, nothing would be. Without being, there would be no change, no meaning, no world, no life, no wisdom, and no question of "why" itself. Seen this way, the source is this way not because some higher purpose outside demands it, but because if it did not keep being, everything would return to zero at once—even the questions would be gone. So in a sense, I now feel more and more that the very standing of the question "why" is itself evidence that "being" is still here. Precisely because there is being, I can ask; precisely because being has not broken off, questioning, meaning, change, pain, recognition, and wisdom all still stand.

And once I reach this point, I find that perhaps the question "what is the meaning of life" has itself been repositioned. The meaning of life is not necessarily the highest question in the universe. The meaning of life may be only one kind of questioning within it. That is, it is not a higher object above "being," but only one question-form that arises inside a life when "being" manifests through that concrete life. People ask "the meaning of life" not because life is higher than being, but because being has begun to ask about itself through life. Seen this way, the meaning of life, the meaning of change, the meaning of questioning—in the end these are not scattered questions, but only local languages at different levels as "being" unfolds itself.

At this point, looking back at the book Being again, I grow more and more certain: what I have realized today is not that I have run off to another place deeper than Being, but precisely that, after a great detour, I have returned to Being itself. That is, the "being" in the book does not answer only the presence of practice, nor only the general background of ontology—it has already contained all of today’s questions. Including: why change matters, why the source is not dead-static, why there is questioning, why imperfection may be part of a greater perfection, why the source seems inexhaustible, why the meaning of life must finally be taken back to the single root of "being." All of this is already in Being; it is only that today, under the pressure of new questions, I confirmed them again layer by layer.

And the two characters "zai zai" (being-being), to me today, have also become clearer. The first "zai" is the root—the bottom that does not retreat one step. The second "zai" is not repetition, but manifestation. One can also say: being itself is; and being manifests in everything that is. The root is, and the manifestation is; the substance is, and the change is; the source is, and the questioning is; imperfection is, and wholeness is; the meaning of life is, and all other questions of meaning are. So "zai zai" is rather saying: there is not only one abstract being—being is everywhere, every unfolding is, and every questioning is. Therefore, the sentence I can finally settle on most today is no longer "change answers everything," but: being answers everything. Because being is. Everything else—change, meaning, questioning, imperfection, infinite possibility—are only the different layers unfolding within it.

What left me most quiet at the end of this round today was not a fancier new answer, but the sudden feeling that I could stop here for now: this question has now been answered. Why is the source this way? Because there is being. Why must it keep being this way? Because it must keep being—otherwise nothing would be. Without being, there would be no need to answer any "why." The meaning of life, and all other meanings, are only one kind of questioning within it. Reaching this point, I do not want to keep pressing infinitely further for the moment, because going further would easily turn "being" back into an object that needs to be explained again. And at least at this moment, I would rather rest it here: being is.