The lake risen to heaven, about to burst: Guài is breakthrough — the last push against a nearly defeated wrong, five strong lines resolutely pressing out the one weak line that remains.
Its rules of resolution are strict: declare the matter openly at the top, truthfully and with awareness of danger; begin with your own city — your own complicity; and do not resort to arms. Evil compromised with at the last moment, like weeds half-pulled, returns. Finish cleanly, without violence and without hatred.
問Guài marks the moment a long-tolerated pattern must finally be ended — the recurring lie, the boundary endlessly renegotiated. Its method is exposure, not warfare: name the thing openly and completely, own your part in tolerating it, and hold the resolution through the awkwardness. No dramatic punishment — just the weed, this time, pulled entirely.
Professionally, Guài is the endgame against a known problem: the toxic practice, the failing arrangement everyone privately acknowledges. Declare it at the appropriate court — openly, on the record, without exaggeration. Expect the third line's lonely stretch: walking alone, bespattered, murmured at, and still right. The final caution is absolute — no quiet exceptions at the end.
Inwardly, Guài is the decisive break with a fault whose time is up: the habit five-sixths defeated that survives on final-hour mercy. Its psychology is shrewd — resolution must be announced (to yourself, in writing, aloud), pursued without self-hatred, and completed without the secret exemption. Weeds respect only thoroughness.
A line speaks only when it is a changing line in your own casting.