Kan and Li Hexagrams: One Sinks Down, One Clings On — Same Hardship, Totally Opposite Solutions

Kan and Li are a pair of opposite hexagrams. One sinks downward; the other clings upward.

A reader told me about his experiences over the past two years. My first thought after hearing him out was: this is the Kan hexagram.

First, his father fell seriously ill; then his company laid off staff; next, problems with his house forced him to pay compensation; finally, his partner of four years broke up with him.

Four events, over a year and a half, one after another.

He said what he fears most now isn’t any single one of these things—it’s the “next one.”

I told him he’s right to be afraid. Because that’s exactly what the Kan hexagram is about: the “next one.”

Kan is the 29th hexagram: Xi Kan (Repeated Risk).

The character “xi” (repeated) is crucial here. Xi means repetition. Xi Kan refers to layered danger—one peril after another.

Among the 64 Hexagrams of the I Ching, only the Kan hexagram has “xi” added before its Hexagram Judgment. No other hexagram has this.

Why? Because the very nature of Kan is repetition.

Water flows downward, filling one pit after another. You think you’ve cleared this hurdle, but there’s another pit ahead.

The image of the Kan hexagram is water—water above and water below. Top is water, bottom is still water.

Water has no fixed shape; it rounds with round vessels, squares with square ones. It seems the softest thing, yet it can wear through stone.

So the first trait of Kan: it is not hard, but it never stops.

The mistake many people make when caught in Kan is trying to “tough it out”—trying to force their way out with sheer will.

But Kan is not a wall; it’s water. You can’t push against water and win.

The Hexagram Judgment of Kan says: You fu, wei xin heng, xing you shang (Sincerity and Trust; the heart is penetrating; action brings honor).

“You fu” means having solid ground in your heart, having a foundation. “Wei xin heng” means your mind remains clear and connected.

This line is the core of solving Kan: whether you get through doesn’t depend on how much strength you have—it depends on whether your heart is steady.

If your mind is in chaos, you sink. If your mind stays calm, no matter how deep the water, you can stay afloat.

This isn’t empty motivational talk. The I Ching describes a very practical mechanism: in a streak of bad news, the easiest wrong move people make is acting recklessly.

Rushing to find a solution, grasping at any straw, scrambling to do something to ease anxiety.

And every single move only makes the problem worse.

The Third Line (Six in the Third Place) of Kan says: Lai zhi kan kan, xian qie zhen, ru yu kan dan, wu yong (Coming and going, all is peril; danger and rest alike, you fall into a deep pit—do not act).

Every direction brings more peril, and if you try to lean back and rest, you end up falling into an even deeper pit. At this point, do nothing at all.

The phrase “wu yong” (do not act) appears rarely in the I Ching. It means every action you take right now will be wrong.

Now let’s talk about Li.

Li is the 30th hexagram. Li means li (clinging)—to attach, to adhere.

The image of the Li hexagram is fire—fire above and fire below.

Fire has a trait: it cannot exist on its own. When the fuel burns out, the fire dies.

So Li is about clinging. You must cling to something to exist.

The Xiang Commentary says: Ming liang zuo, li. Da ren yi ji ming zhao yu si fang (Light rises twice, that is Li. The Great Person uses successive light to illuminate all directions).

Two lights rising one after another can illuminate all directions. One light alone is not enough.

The Hexagram Judgment of Li says: Li zhen, heng. Xu pin niu, ji (Favorable in correctness, penetrating. Raising a cow brings good fortune).

A “pin niu” is a cow. The trait of a cow is gentle yielding.

This line means: you must cultivate a quality of gentle yielding.

Why talk about gentle yielding when discussing clinging?

Because the prerequisite for clinging is admitting you need to rely on something. And many people refuse to admit that.

The difficulty Li describes is completely different from Kan.

Kan is external blow after external blow. Li is an internal situation: you are strong, but you cannot survive without that thing you cling to.

A person may excel at a big company, with an impressive title, abundant resources, and everyone at their beck and call. Then one day the company restructures, they go out on their own, and they realize they’re nothing without it.

It’s not that their ability disappeared—it’s that the fire went out. The fuel was gone.

That’s the dilemma of Li.

Li’s dilemma is most often misjudged as Kan, because both present as “bad luck.”

But their solutions are complete opposites.

The solution for Kan is to stay steady, don’t act recklessly, and wait for the water to pass. You yourself are the boat.

The solution for Li is to find something to cling to—and the right thing to cling to. You are not the boat; you have to find something that can carry you.

Using the wrong method will end badly.

If you look for a patron when you’re in Kan, you’ll be taken advantage of. Because in the Kan phase, you’re at your most vulnerable, easiest for others to lead around by the nose.

If you stubbornly insist on independence when you’re in Li, you’ll burn yourself out. Because fire without fuel only dies.

How to tell them apart?

Ask yourself one question: If all my external conditions stayed the same, but I just swapped out the people around me and moved somewhere else, would I feel better?

If yes, it’s a Li problem. You need to change what you’re clinging to.

If no, it’s a Kan problem. Moving won’t help—the problem follows you.

I’ve tested this method many times, and it’s very accurate.

Now, each of these two hexagrams has a line that’s easy to overlook.

The Fifth Line (Nine in the Fifth Place) of Kan says: Kan bu ying, qi ji ping, wu jiu (The pit is not full, but it is already level—no blame).

The pit hasn’t been filled in yet, but it’s leveled out, no major fault.

This line is very gentle. It says you don’t have to wait for a “total solution” to have cleared the hurdle. Even if the pit isn’t full, as long as you’re not falling deeper, you’ve made it through.

The most painful part for many people in Kan is feeling like “I still haven’t gotten out of this.” But the I Ching says not falling further is already passing the test.

The Third Line (Nine in the Third Place) of Li says: Ri ze zhi li, bu gu fou er ge, ze da die zhi jie, xiong (The sun is setting; if you do not beat the earthen jar and sing, you will lament old age—misfortune).

The sun is dipping west. At this hour, if you don’t tap a clay pot and sing, you’ll only be left grieving old age. Misfortune.

“Ri ze” is dusk. The fire of dusk is about to go out.

This line means: when the thing you cling to is fading, you either accept it calmly and sing a song, or you’re left with nothing but complaint.

It doesn’t offer a third option.

So what Li really warns us is: the things we cling to also grow old.

You can’t spend your whole life relying on a single piece of fuel. You have to learn to find the next one before the current one burns out.

That’s what the Xiang Commentary calls “successive light.” Light must continue, it must not break.

Kan and Li are the final two hexagrams of the Upper Classic of the I Ching.

One teaches how to survive in water; the other teaches how not to burn up in fire.

Put together, they make a very down-to-earth saying: in this life, a person is either in water or in fire.

When you’re in water, don’t thrash around.

When you’re in fire, don’t stubbornly push through alone.