If anyone ever asked me, "Marcus, what was the hardest torture in your life?" I would answer without hesitation: Meditation.
Yes, you read that right. Not having my nails pulled out, not branding with hot iron, not hunger or thirst. It was precisely this damned "sitting in the Lotus position."
In Rome, punishment was simple: make a mistake, take the whip or clean the latrines. Here, if you break discipline, they lock you in a dark room and force you to sit facing a wall, motionless for four hours. They call it "self-reflection." I call it "a waste of time."
It was four in the morning. The air was damp and cold. Around fifty children were sitting in the sect's training hall, their legs crossed like dried frogs.
My knees were throbbing. An eight-year-old boy's bones are still soft, but sitting like this for hours could cripple anyone.
"Loosen your shoulders, Li Fen," Elder Zhang said, gliding past me. His steps were silent; he was probably a ghost.
"My shoulders are loose, Master," I whispered through gritted teeth. "But my legs feel like they are about to snap off."
"Pain is an illusion," he said calmly. "Pain is the body's way of speaking to your spirit. Listen to it, but do not obey it."
I swore internally. Roman curses are rich and colorful. If the Elder heard my thoughts, his 'Qi' flow would reverse, and his heart would stop. "Pain is an illusion," I thought. "Let me stab your foot with a dagger and we'll see how much of an illusion that is."
But I did as instructed. I closed my eyes.
I tried to find the "warmth" from yesterday—that strange feeling that appeared after I struck Chen. Where was it? In my stomach?
I inhaled. Deeply. Slowly.
When I was on guard duty in Rome, I constantly moved my fingers to keep from freezing. Here, movement was forbidden. This went against my soldier's nature. Action is life. Stillness is death.
But... if I wanted to survive in this world, I had to play their game.
I tried to focus my mind. What is "Qi"? Perhaps it's just the conscious control of blood circulation? Artificially invoking adrenaline? I know that feeling before combat: rapid heartbeat, warm hands. I just need to summon it while sitting still.
I changed the visualization. I imagined I was not at home, but by a quiet river. The water flows. Peaceful.
The warmth appeared beneath my navel again. Small, like the flicker of a candle. I tried to grab it. It wanted to slip away, like a wet fish.
"I caught it," I blurted out.
The silence in the hall was broken. All the children opened their eyes and looked at me. Chen, two rows behind me, glared. His nose was still swollen and bruised from yesterday's "lesson."
Elder Zhang crouched beside me, putting his hand on my stomach. His palm was warm.
A moment passed. Then his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Dantian (Energy Reservoir)..." he whispered. "You... you've only trained for two years. And this morning you felt the flow for the first time?"
"Yes," I said simply. "It tried to run, but I caught it. Like catching a runaway slave."
Elder Zhang stood up and addressed the hall.
"Training is over. Everyone to breakfast. Li Fen, you stay."
The children filed out. Chen shot me a glance mixed with envy and fear as he left. He understood: if I also mastered the "magic power," his situation would be hopeless.
Only the Elder and I remained. He sat on a small chair in the corner and began brewing tea.
"Come, sit," he gestured.
I rubbed my legs and sat opposite him. The scent of the tea filled my lungs.
"You are a strange boy, Fen," he said, pouring the tea and handing it to me. "Inside you... there is some kind of darkness. Your 'Qi' energy is not like a clear river. It is more like... iron and blood."
I took the cup. In Rome, we drank wine; here, they drank this bitter water.
"Is that bad, Master?" I asked cautiously.
"There is no good or bad," he said, staring into the distance. "There are only consequences. If you guide this power with rage, it will burn you out. If you guide it with wisdom, it will become your sword."
I took a sip of the tea. It was hot.
"I want to be a sword," I said firmly. "Teach me how to use it. I don't need philosophy, Master. I just need the... mechanism. How do I turn this power into a fist?"
The Elder laughed.
"Mechanism? You think of the body like a catapult?"
"Isn't it?" I stared back. "Bones are wood, muscles are rope, and 'Qi' is the tension. If everything is calculated correctly, the stone flies far."
Elder Zhang was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
"Your path is dangerous, child. But... interesting. Very interesting. Very well. Starting tomorrow, you will not train with the main group."
"Am I being punished?"
"No. You will carry water down the mountain. Without buckets."
I stared at him.
"Without buckets? In my mouth?"
"No," the Elder smiled slyly. "In wooden bowls. And if a single drop spills, you climb the mountain again."
"By Jupiter's damnation!" I thought. This old man wants to torture me. But outwardly, I remained calm.
"Understood," I said. "Carrying water—that is also a tactical exercise."
"It's not tactics," he said, setting down his cup. "It is patience, Li Fen. You have strength, you have wit, but patience... you have none."
I stood up. My legs were still numb. If I was to reach the rank of general in this life, I first had to win this old man's strange games.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Master," I said, and left.
Outside, the sun was just rising. The mountain air was pristine. I took a deep breath.
"Patience, he says," I muttered to myself. "I guarded the Roman borders for 15 years. No one knows patience better than me."
But deep down, I knew: this mountain and those wooden bowls would try to break me. A Roman legionary cannot fight a mountain. I must adapt.
Again.