Chapter 5: The Breath of the Mountain
The encounter with Liang and Jin left a residue of unease in Damish's mind. Their curiosity had been a double-edged sword—a flicker of human connection tempered by the stark reminder of his utter irrelevance in their world of tangible skill and purpose. He had retreated to the quiet solitude of his room, the four wooden walls feeling less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage. The weight of six months stretched before him, an empty, daunting expanse of time.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They were good hands. They could solve complex equations, build a working model engine, and type eighty words a minute. Here, they were useless. Liang's taunt echoed: What do you have to offer? The answer, it seemed, was nothing.
He was lost in this spiral of thought when a soft, familiar knock came at his door. It was less assertive than before, almost hesitant.
"Come in, Kai," Damish called out, not needing to guess.
The door slid open and Kai peered in, his usual bright energy subdued into a more serious, formal demeanor. He wasn't alone. He carried a small, flat wooden box, intricately carved with a pattern that resembled interlocking mountain peaks. He held it with a reverence that was entirely new.
"Damish," Kai said, bowing slightly as he entered. "The Headmaster has sent me."
Damish straightened up. Any mention of Master Ren commanded immediate attention. "Sent you? For what?"
Kai approached and carefully, almost ceremoniously, placed the wooden box on the small table beside Damish's bed. "He has observed your restlessness. The mind that is not occupied will turn in on itself and breed sickness as surely as a stagnant pond breeds mosquitoes. More importantly, he is concerned with the lingering shadow of your injury. The body has healed, but the shock to your system, the… the echo of the trauma… remains in your energy pathways. It hinders your full recovery."
Damish looked from the box to Kai's earnest face. This sounded different from the practical, physical medicine Instructor Bo had applied. This sounded… deeper.
"The Headmaster," Kai continued, his voice dropping into a tone of utmost respect, "has instructed me to gift you with a technique. A breathing technique."
He unlatched the small brass clasp on the box and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of deep blue velvet, was a single scroll of aged parchment. It was not large. Next to it lay a smaller slip of paper with neat, modern writing on it.
"This," Kai said, gesturing to the scroll but not touching it, "is the ancient form. The original Sanskrit name is written there. We call it Shān Xī, the Breath of the Mountain. The Headmaster himself has transcribed the core principles and beginner's stages for you on this separate paper. The original is too… potent for an untrained mind. Its concepts are not just instructions; they are keys that can unlock doors not everyone is ready to open."
Damish stared at the scroll. It looked impossibly old and profound. "A breathing technique?" he asked, skepticism warring with curiosity. "How will that help me recover faster than rest?"
Kai smiled, a patient, knowing smile. "You think of breath only as oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. A biological process. Here, we understand breath as something more. It is the primary rhythm of life, the bridge between the body and the mind, the conscious and the unconscious. It is the tide that moves the ocean of energy within us."
He pointed to the smaller paper. "This technique will teach you to breathe with intention. To use the breath to circulate your qi—your vital energy—to the places in your body that are weakened or blocked. It will soothe your nervous system, which is still screaming from the accident. It will bring clarity to your mind, which is clouded with fear and uncertainty. It is the most fundamental, yet most powerful, tool we have."
Damish picked up the modern transcription. The handwriting was exquisite, each character perfectly formed with a steady, calm hand. It spoke of posture, of specific rhythms of inhalation, retention, and exhalation. It used terms like "drawing energy up the spine" and "directing warmth to the dantian," concepts that felt esoteric and strange.
"This looks… profound," Damish admitted, the understatement feeling vast.
"It is," Kai said, his voice deadly serious now. "It is one of the core secrets of our lineage. This is not a game, Damish. This is not a simple exercise. The Headmaster's trust in you is… immense."
He locked eyes with Damish, all traces of the cheerful boy gone, replaced by the gravity of a dedicated disciple. "There are rules. Sacred rules. This technique is never to be shared with anyone outside these walls. It is only for initiated disciples of the sect and for… for very rare, chosen outsiders who are deemed worthy by the Headmaster himself. To share it would be the deepest betrayal. Do you understand?"
The weight of the gift suddenly became clear. It wasn't just a medical prescription. It was an initiation. A test. A colossal leap of faith from the most powerful man Damish had ever encountered. The sheer unexpectedness of it left him speechless. Why him? Why now? The question was more urgent than ever.
"I… I understand," Damish finally managed. "I won't share it. I give you my word."
Kai studied him for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. The Headmaster also said that if you practice this diligently—not just as a task, but with true focus and understanding—it will do more than heal you."
"What else could it do?" Damish asked, his curiosity fully ignited.
Kai's voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly could summon something powerful. "He said that if you can practice it to its absolute summit, if you can master the Breath of the Mountain completely, it can become the path to awaken the Kundalini."
The word hung in the air, ancient and heavy with meaning. Damish had heard it before, in passing mentions in yoga classes or spiritual podcasts. It was always shrouded in mystery.
"Kundalini?" he repeated. "The… coiled serpent? That's real?"
"In our tradition, it is not a metaphor," Kai said, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and caution. "It is the primal, dormant energy that lies at the base of the spine. To awaken it is to unlock the deepest potential of a human being. It brings immense power, clarity, and consciousness. But it is also incredibly dangerous. To force it, or to awaken it in an unprepared vessel, can lead to madness, to physical breakdown. The Breath is the safe, steady path. It prepares the entire system—nerve by nerve, energy channel by energy channel—for that eventual awakening. It is the key, but you must forge the lock yourself, through years of perfect practice."
The scope of what was being offered—no, entrusted—to him was staggering. This wasn't a get-well-soon card. This was a map to a hidden continent within himself, a map these people had guarded for centuries.
"Why?" The question burst out of Damish, unable to be contained any longer. "Kai, why would he give this to me? I'm nobody. I'm just a guy who got hit by a car. I'm leaving in six months. Why share a sacred secret?"
Kai looked at him, and for a brief moment, Damish saw a flicker of the same question in the young disciple's eyes. But it was quickly banked by faith.
"The Headmaster's vision is not ours to question," Kai said simply, repeating what was clearly a core tenet of his life. "He sees patterns we cannot. He told me to tell you this: 'A seed does not know why it is planted, only that it must strive for the sun.' Perhaps you are the seed. Perhaps this technique is the sun. Your only task is to practice."
With that, Kai bowed again, a deep, formal bow of respect not to Damish, but to the knowledge contained in the box. "I will leave you to study. Begin slowly. Do not force anything. If you feel dizzy or unwell, stop and rest. This is a marathon, not a sprint. The mountain does not rise in a day."
And with those final, cryptic words, Kai slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him and leaving Damish alone with the profound silence and the even more profound gift.
Damish sat motionless for a long time, just staring at the wooden box. The encounter with Liang and Jin felt like a lifetime ago. Their world of physical combat and rivalry seemed almost childish compared to the deep, internal universe this scroll and paper hinted at.
Hesitantly, almost afraid, he picked up the Headmaster's transcription again. He read the first line, written in that perfectly calm script:
"Sit with your spine straight, as if a golden thread is drawing your head towards the heavens. Let your hands rest on your knees, palms open to receive. Bring your awareness to the base of your spine. Feel the earth's energy there, dormant and still."
It was instructions, but it was also poetry. It was science, but a science of the spirit he had never imagined.
He placed the paper down and looked at the ancient scroll. He didn't dare open it. The Headmaster's warning was clear. That was for later, if there ever was a later.
For now, he had this. A task. A purpose. An answer, however vague, to Liang's challenge. What did he have to offer? For now, his offering was his own focus. His own willingness to understand.
He moved to the clear space on the floor, sitting as the instructions dictated. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine a golden thread pulling him upward. He focused on his breath, the simple in and out that he had taken for granted every second of his life.
But now, it was different. Now, each breath felt like a key turning in a lock he never knew he had. Each inhalation was an act of curiosity. Each exhalation, a release of doubt.
The outside world, his parents, his university, the six-month sentence—it all receded, quieted by the simple, monumental act of paying attention.
He began to breathe. In. And out. Slowly. Deeply. Directing the air, imagining a warmth spreading from his core.
The chapter of idleness was over. A new chapter of inner exploration had just begun.