1970. Conway's playing with cellular automata on graph paper, testing simple rules: a cell lives or dies based on its neighbors. B3/S23—born with three neighbors, survives with two or three. He's not trying to engineer movement. He's watching what lawful structure produces. Then the glider appears. Five pixels arranging themselves into a pattern that walks diagonally across the grid,永遠, forever, unguided. No pilot, no program telling it where to go. Just three rules applied honestly and the universe discovers locomotion. This is 無妄—innocence. Not naïveté; disciplined non-contrivance. You set the constraints that matter: clean interfaces, real tests, truthful inputs. Then you don't meddle. The moment you act from angle—shipping features users didn't ask for, tweaking metrics to look good, engineering outcomes instead of surfacing them—you corrupt the field. The glider stops gliding. Emergent behavior dies. The failure mode isn't insufficient planning. It's contaminating the board with cleverness. You can't force emergence; you can only build the lawful conditions and let structure discover what it discovers. The arrogant engineer believes they can steer every outcome. The honest one sets the rules true and watches what walks out of the grid. Conway didn't design the glider. He designed the universe it could exist in. Build the board honest, then step back. Supreme success arises from law, not schemes.