Chapter 17.
The rest of the journey Pai Mei and I made in complete silence, and only now did I finally get a proper chance to look around. The scenery was — otherworldly. Distant mountain peaks pierced the clouds, and the slopes were blanketed in forests of greens I had never seen before. The air was surprisingly fresh and somehow rich — the kind of air you want to breathe deeply, filling your lungs to capacity.
From time to time I noticed strange creatures. A herd of graceful animals resembling deer but with scaled tails and a single horn growing from their foreheads. High overhead a vast bird flew past, its feathers iridescent, its tail long as a pheasant's. And at a stream I spotted an enormous tortoise — the pattern on its shell resembling a complex diagram — watching me with the air of something that knew the answer to every question in the universe. All of it was so unreal that my brain refused to accept it, as though I'd wandered into one of those Eastern fairy tales I used to read.
Beyond studying the world around me, I tried to remember everything I knew about qi. It didn't amount to much — mostly scraps from manga, films, and a couple of novels I'd read at some point. Something about an energy present everywhere and in everything, that could be felt and accumulated through specific postures, breathing, and meditation. Cultivation levels surfaced from memory too, swords guided by thought, spatial rings that could hold almost anything. In short, a world of Eastern masters where martial arts charged with this qi stood in the place of spells. The thought that I might actually be about to learn all of this produced a strange sensation — a mixture of wild excitement and mild unease.
After a couple of hours we reached the village. At first glance it was an ordinary Eastern settlement: single-story wooden houses with curved roofs, narrow lanes, the smell of smoke and fresh timber. The moment we drew close, the attention of every local — all of them East Asian in appearance — fixed on us. Or rather, the looks directed at Pai Mei were recognizing and respectful, while those directed at me were openly startled and wary. Children retreated fairly quickly, replaced by adults — men and women — many of whom carried weapons at hand or on their backs: bows, staffs, swords. The most striking thing was that the weapons glowed faintly with a soft orange light. It was arresting to look at, and left no doubt that these were not simply iron, but something considerably more.
Pai Mei exchanged a few brief greetings with a couple of elderly residents, traded a few words with each, and they pointed him toward the center of the village. I followed behind, silent, trying not to stand out — though I felt thoroughly conspicuous, which I was, in fact. From some of the buildings came the sound of hammering — forges, apparently. Beside the houses stood straw and wooden training dummies. And through the lanes wandered the same mythical creatures I had seen on the road, moving between the houses unconcerned, while the locals treated their presence as entirely natural. That was the moment I finally understood, completely: I wasn't simply in another country. I was in another world. In Ta Lo.
When we finally approached a house that appeared unremarkable from the outside, Pai Mei stopped nearby and said clearly, but without raising his voice:
"Yin Nan."
Several seconds passed, then the door opened and a small woman appeared on the threshold. She looked somewhere between forty-five and fifty, though the depth in her eyes was so piercing that pinning down her age with confidence was impossible. She greeted Pai Mei, and then her steady gaze came to rest on me. Remembering his instruction, I simply nodded. She inclined her head in return.
Yin Nan and Pai Mei began to speak. I understood nothing, naturally, but I listened. Their speech was fluid and melodic — nothing like the rough Chinese I had heard from Sly.
While they talked, I studied the locals. All of them — men and women alike — were in exceptional physical condition: lean, solid, moving with fluid certainty. All East Asian in appearance, and I didn't notice a significant difference from the Chinese people I had seen in Shanghai, except that the people here seemed — more refined. More polished. There were also several young women who were observing me from around the corners of buildings with undisguised curiosity.
After a minute or so, Yin Nan and Pai Mei moved off toward a lake, and I followed in silence. We came out to an enormous body of water, and on the far bank, carved directly into the cliff face, was something that stopped the breath — vast, monumental circular gates. They were made of stone covered in intricate carving, and their entire inner surface was encrusted with something resembling scales. They looked impossibly ancient.
We approached a strange building on the bank, more resembling a temple or pagoda than anything else. Pai Mei caught my eye and gestured toward a spot near the entrance. The meaning was clear without words: wait here. I did, leaning against the wall. The Master went inside alone, and Yin Nan stayed with me. The air settled into the awkward quiet of two people without a common language. I didn't speak hers and she, apparently, didn't speak mine. So I simply looked out at the lake and the enormous gates, trying to gauge their scale. They were truly colossal.
Then, unexpectedly, Yin Nan turned to face me and spoke in clean, lightly accented English:
"You are very new here."
I startled, and for a couple of seconds could only stare at her, unable to say anything.
She read my reaction, and a slight smile touched her face — not mocking, but understanding.
"If Pai Mei brought you to Ta Lo and led you to these Gates, then you are someone who can be trusted," she continued, in the same calm, even voice. "What stands before you — these are the Gates. And beyond them rests the Dweller in Darkness. An ancient evil that threatens all living things in our world. And our village stands guard. We are the ones who keep it from breaking free."
I found my gaze drifting involuntarily toward the enormous stone gates embedded in the cliff face. The Dweller in Darkness. That sounded serious and vast in scope. Fragments of Marvel knowledge surfaced in my head — Dormammu, interdimensional entities. An ancient evil inhabiting a separate dimension seemed entirely consistent with the logic of this world. After everything I had been through, nothing in it could surprise me anymore.
While I was thinking, a simple question formed.
"Excuse me," I began, "but how did you know I spoke English? You hadn't tried to speak to me before."
Yin Nan gave a quiet laugh, and something maternal lived in the sound of it.
"My dear boy, it was obvious. First — you are clearly not from here. And second — Pai Mei speaks only two languages. While we discussed you, you did not react to a single word. Which means you do not know Chinese. That leaves only one common language that outsiders usually have — English. It is simple logic."
*Of course. That is completely obvious,* I thought, mentally kicking myself.
Yin Nan was about to add something, when Pai Mei appeared silently in the doorway of the pagoda. His gaze moved briefly over me, then settled on the woman. He said something short to her in Chinese, and she nodded. Then he turned to me and spoke in flawless English — which surprised me all over again:
"I have paid my respects to Yin Li, the sister of Yin Nan. My business here is complete. We go."
He said his brief farewells, and we made our way back toward the village's edge under the attentive stares of the residents. We walked in silence. I was processing what I'd heard: the Dweller in Darkness, the Guardians — it sounded like the premise of an epic saga. And knowing how events tended to develop in this world, I should probably be prepared for that saga to catch up with me at some point.
When we had fully left the village behind and gone perhaps a kilometer into the forest, Pai Mei stopped.
"If we continue moving as we have been, the journey will take a prohibitive amount of time," he said without inflection.
"How did you reach us so quickly, then?" I couldn't help asking.
"Alone I can move considerably faster," he answered, and that barely-visible spark I had seen at the stone moved through his eyes. "This is possible through qi."
I looked at him with a silent question, trying to imagine what "faster" meant. And at that moment he vanished. Or rather — his figure blurred, and he stood directly in front of me, having covered ten steps in a fraction of a second. It was nothing like teleportation — I did catch the movement, or the beginning of it — but the speed was incomprehensible.
*So qi can do that too.*
Before I could speak or react, his finger — radiating a faint blue glow and warmth — touched my forehead. The contact was light, almost weightless, but something inside my mind clicked. The world began to drift and go dark. I felt my legs buckle.
But I didn't fall. Pai Mei caught me, and in the last moment before consciousness left entirely, I felt him lift my body with ease onto his shoulder. The final thought that passed through the dimming of my mind was:
*I just hope it stays respectable.*
And then there was only darkness.
---
⁂
---
I woke to sunlight pushing through window shutters and striking my eyes. The first sensation I registered was lightness. Not the kind that follows a good rest — something else. As though everything inside had been cleaned out and set right. Nothing ached, not even the persistent muscle soreness from the last exhausting weeks. I was lying on a fairly firm bed under a light but warm blanket, and for a few seconds I simply existed in that unfamiliar state of ease.
Then I sat up and looked around. The room was small but — solid. Walls of dark, polished stone, floor of carefully fitted wooden planks. Glass windows allowing in soft sunlight. The furniture was minimal: a bed, a nightstand, a chest against the wall, a small table and chair. All the same dark wood, without unnecessary ornament, but clearly made with care and probably at considerable cost. Nothing superfluous, purely functional — but with a distinct undertone of wealth.
I pushed off the blanket and stood up, and only then noticed that I was not wearing my worn travel clothes. Instead I had on clean, practical garments — wide trousers in grey heavy fabric and a loose long-sleeved shirt in the same material. Everything fit surprisingly well, without restricting movement.
*Interesting — who changed my clothes,* I thought, but without particular concern. If anyone had meant me harm, they would have done it already.
I was going to walk to the window to see where I'd been brought, when someone knocked at the door. Gently at first, almost inaudible, then slightly more insistently.
"Come in," I said, turning from the window.
The door opened and an elderly Asian woman appeared on the threshold. She wore simple but tidy clothing. She folded her hands and gave a shallow, respectful bow.
"The Master has woken," she said in clean, lightly accented English. "Master Pai awaits you for breakfast. Please follow me."
I nodded. She turned and moved along the corridor, signaling me to follow.
Stepping out of the room, I took in the house. It was genuinely well-appointed: two stories, spacious. The same dark stone walls, but dressed with carved wooden panels and scrolls bearing elegant calligraphy. The floors were polished wood. Every door along the corridor was closed. Everything breathed calm, order, and — money. Evidently Master Pai did not live modestly. That much was clear when I compared what I was seeing now with the village we had visited.
On the ground floor, the servant led me to one of the doors, knocked softly, and said something quietly in Chinese.
From behind the door came Pai Mei's composed voice:
"Enter."
The woman opened the door, let me through, and followed herself, closing it silently behind her.
The room was a tea room. In the center, on a low table, stood a teapot and two small cups. Pai Mei sat on a mat cross-legged, his spine perfectly straight. He was dressed in simple white clothing, but on him it wore like something considerably finer.
He gestured to the mat across from him. I went over and sat down, trying to match his relaxed but composed posture. The servant stepped forward, poured a cup of fragrant tea, and withdrew as silently as she had entered, leaving us alone.
An awkward silence settled. Pai Mei took a slow sip from his cup, his expression thoughtful. I took a sip as well. The tea was excellent — herbaceous, with a gentle bitterness and a sweet finish.
Finally he set his cup on the table and directed his heavy, penetrating gaze at me.
"I gave Sly my word," he began, without preamble. "The promise will be honored, and I will begin your training. But how far you progress and how much you come to know depends entirely on you — on your diligence, your will, and your capacity."
I nodded. Nothing in this world came without cost, and his words were simply confirmation of what I already knew.
"We are currently in my home," he continued, "but I am a man with many obligations. Numerous responsibilities do not permit me to dedicate myself continually to a beginner. So I will place you in my dojo. There, senior students teach the foundations, and you will receive the necessary base. You will also be given a room there for lodging. I will check on your progress from time to time."
He fell silent, letting me think it over. The plan was logical: a master of his standing was hardly going to spend his time in private sessions with a green beginner, while senior students were perfectly suited for that role.
And then I remembered the central problem.
"Master Pai — I don't know the local language," I said carefully. "How will I understand the teachers?"
The Master, as though he had been waiting for precisely this question, drew from his wide sleeve a small transparent crystal, roughly the size of a finger joint, and set it on the table. Beside it he placed a folded sheet of paper.
"This is a Knowledge Crystal," he explained. "Specific knowledge is recorded into it by means of qi, and can then be absorbed by another person. This crystal contains knowledge of the local language. And this," he tapped the folded paper, "is a personal set of notes I have prepared for you. Written in your language, they set out the fundamentals: how to quiet the mind, regulate the breath, and take the first steps toward sensing qi."
I looked at the crystal with interest. It was beautiful to look at, but appeared no different from an ordinary stone.
"The first thing you must master is the ability to sense qi and, to even the smallest degree, direct it," the Master continued. "And once you can do that, you will channel a tiny particle of qi into this crystal. It will do the rest, and you will immediately understand and speak our language."
It sounded almost like magic. But I had already seen flying cups and a fox spirit, so a crystal that transmitted instant language acquisition no longer seemed beyond possibility.
A practical question occurred to me.
"Master — will I be expected to work? To pay for my lodging and training?"
Pai Mei shook his head, and for a moment a slight smile moved at the corner of his mouth.
"No. All students of martial schools are fully supported. Your sole task is to learn: to absorb knowledge and sharpen your skills. Those who lack the ability or the commitment are expelled. And in our world, losing a place in a good school — that is equal to losing one's chance at a better life. Remember that."
The old truth about things that appear free surfaced in my mind. Except here, the trap was the prospect of remaining weak in a world where powerful organizations were already searching for me — which meant my motivation was more than adequate.
"Master — what is qi?" I asked, finally deciding to voice the central question.
"Qi…" Pai Mei sipped his tea, as though gathering his thoughts. "It is the life force. It exists in all things — living and not living, in earth, air, and water. It is the foundation of everything that is. For a warrior, qi is fuel, instrument, and weapon alike. You will learn the details when you feel it yourself — without your own experience, any words on the subject are simply empty sound."
*Roughly what I suspected, but I'd prefer something more concrete than elevated philosophy,* I thought to myself, a little drily.
And yet I decided to ask the question that had been sitting with me since waking.
"Master Pai — why did you have to — put me out? When we left that village."
Pai Mei looked directly into my eyes.
"For several reasons. First — moving at that speed requires absolute concentration. The presence of another person's consciousness, especially one who has no command of qi, would have been — inconvenient for me. Second — I simply put you into deep sleep using my qi. This is not only harmless, but beneficial to the body. Through this means we reached our destination in a single day, rather than spending a week or more. It was the most efficient path."
His logic was difficult to argue with. Carrying me across half a dimension in a waking state would indeed have been inconvenient. And a week's travel would have meant additional risk and wasted time. His method was blunt, but practical. Much like everything Sly had done. Apparently genuine masters shared a common approach to solving problems.
I simply nodded, accepting his explanation. And honestly, I hadn't had a choice in the matter. Feeling aggrieved toward someone who had taken me in, over something like this, seemed far too small-minded.
We finished the tea in silence. When the cups were empty, Pai Mei said:
"The servant will take you to the dojo. They are already aware of your arrival and of your — situation. Good fortune, Gan. Do not disappoint Sly. And do not disappoint yourself."
There was none of the fatherly warmth that Sly had shown in those last moments — but in its place was firm assurance, and something like anticipation. He was investing resources and time in me, and he naturally expected a return on that investment. One question turned in my head:
*Why?* — but looking at Pai Mei, I understood that I was unlikely to receive an answer if I asked it. At least not now.
"I'll do my best," I said, rising and inclining my head in a bow, the way I'd seen in films. I kept it shallow, unsure of the local customs, but showing respect to a teacher felt like the right instinct. "And — thank you. For everything."
I didn't say more — in his world, as in Sly's, actions carried far more weight than words. In response, Pai Mei gave a single nod, then his gaze turned inward again, as though he had already moved on to the next problem.
When I stepped out of the tea room, the servant was already waiting. She bowed silently and gestured for me to follow. I walked after her, the Knowledge Crystal and the folded notes pressed in the pocket of my trousers, feeling that something new was beginning.