Chapter 19.
For the next five days my world narrowed to a single objective: using the Development System to understand qi. All my Traits, working in tandem, turned the training ground into a vast living database where every movement was broken down into its components.
The beginners moved with efficiency high for their age, but their movements still carried "noise": small unnecessary micro-movements, barely perceptible hesitation during weight transfer, a slight imbalance at the completion of each stance. Their bodies were well-trained instruments — but instruments governed by ordinary physics.
In the blue students, the noise had nearly vanished. Their movements became precise, and in them appeared an almost imperceptible fluidity. Executing a turn, the body didn't overcome its own inertia — it allowed the inertia to carry it, making only the minimal corrections. It was more like the movement of a liquid than a solid.
That was when a hypothesis formed: their bodies weren't simply moving — they were following the path of least resistance for qi. They didn't spend force. They conducted it.
The senior students in red embodied something close to absolute fluidity. They didn't move — they flowed. In them was incarnated the internal logic I had been trying in vain to calculate. And watching them, I grasped the essential thing: these stances were not combat techniques. They were calibration exercises. Their purpose was to teach the body to remember ideal, energy-efficient trajectories — to encode them as muscle memory.
By the evening of the fifth day I had accumulated a critical mass of data. It resembled a highly complex schematic, where every trajectory was precisely calculated and every movement had its own vector and force.
And yes, I had reached the limit of a purely analytical approach. So that night, before the sixth day, an idea was born — both absurd and entirely logical.
What if, instead of making the body copy the form in order to feel qi, I did the opposite? What if I used the mind to tune the body to qi's frequency — and let the form adjust itself?
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try it.
I spent the entire night sitting in a meditative pose — legs crossed, hands on knees, spine straight, maintaining the prescribed breathing rhythm. The notes said that to sense qi, you had to empty yourself of thought. With "Still Mind" this was no longer a problem — and I had also noticed a secondary effect: in the process of sitting still, analyzing and structuring information had become considerably easier. So instead of clearing my mind, what I had actually been doing all these days was precisely that: analyzing and systematizing.
I sat that way right through until lunchtime, when it was time to go out to training. Someone knocked at the door. A local boy — a beginner — stood on the threshold and said something. I didn't catch the words, but understood the gist. I nodded silently in reply and went out to the training ground, taking my usual place at the end of the beginners' row. There I attracted the least attention and didn't interfere with anyone else.
Taking the first stance, I closed my eyes and turned inward to my internal arsenal — my Traits. Then I began moving slowly, paying no attention to the external world.
By the third stance I was beginning to enter a light trance. By the fourth, my thoughts had quieted. By the fifth they had gone entirely.
It was not withdrawal from reality. No. It was immersion into its essence. "Motion Analyzer," "Critical Eye," and "Structural Thinking" worked in unison, creating a perfect dynamic model of my body in space. "Still Mind" cut away everything extraneous, while "Iron Discipline" and "Nerves of Steel" allowed the body to follow this model with jeweler's precision, ignoring fatigue and discomfort.
Something new stirred inside me — a strange sensation of complete rightness. I was no longer simply moving my body. I had become an operator, and my Traits were a fine interface allowing the body to move as it should, according to this world's internal logic. Each corrected posture, each small adjustment, sent a wave of satisfaction through me — like inserting a perfect key into an invisible lock.
The full cycle consisted of ten movements, the last flowing smoothly back into the first. The session normally ran for five complete cycles, but I became so absorbed in the second that I lost all track of time and forgot the surrounding world entirely. Only one thing mattered: refining this sequence, bringing it to perfect harmony.
And at some point that harmony arrived. I began to feel clearly the center of gravity — the body's single point of concentration — and it was precisely there that the sensation of rightness grew most intense. I allowed myself to dissolve into the feeling. And the more my attention focused on it, the more clearly I understood: everything was proceeding exactly as it should.
The movements continued on their own, and at the moment of completing the tenth — exactly as I stopped — a wave of deep, settling warmth spread from the center of gravity through every part of my body.
I held the final position, slowly returning to awareness. The first thing I registered was wild hunger and thirst — but to my surprise, there was not the slightest weakness in my body. On the contrary, I felt an extraordinary lightness, as though I had been cleaned out from the inside. I opened my eyes slowly.
It was night. Only a few lanterns burned on the training ground, casting long shadows. The place was empty and quiet. And only then did it dawn on me: I had been here for — at least several hours? I had come here in the afternoon.
At that moment my gaze landed on a figure sitting a couple of meters away. On a small mat, legs crossed and spine straight, sat Pai Mei. He looked at me with complete composure, but on his face I could make out something resembling a smile.
The moment our eyes met, he gave a slow nod.
"Congratulations, Gan," his voice in the night silence struck me as extraordinarily encouraging. "You have taken the first and most important step. You have felt qi."
I stood there, unable to speak, literally trying to absorb what had happened.
*Did I actually manage to sense it this quickly?* The strange warmth that had spread through me at the final moment still resonated inside. *And that was it? That was qi?*
"I'm not entirely sure I understand what happened," I finally got out. My throat was dry and my voice came out rough.
"You need not understand it with your mind," Pai Mei answered, rising from his mat with a lightness unnatural for his age. "You need to feel it. You found your inner rhythm. You allowed qi to flow instead of forcing it. Many struggle with this for years, trying through sheer force of will to 'master' qi. But you — you found harmony. Very unusual for an outsider."
He stepped toward me and looked me over from head to feet with a studying eye.
"You are hungry and thirsty."
I only nodded, still not quite myself.
"This is entirely natural for someone who has spent two and a half days in illumination," he added without any particular inflection. I went still, trying to process his words.
*Two and a half days? That can't be right. I simply closed my eyes during a training session.*
"Two and a half?" I said, surprised. "And what is — illumination?"
Pai Mei gave a quiet laugh, and the same mixture of interest and approval moved through his eyes.
"A week ago one of my senior students, Li Wei, came to me," he began. "He reported that you had accidentally achieved enlightenment. He had noticed it in the dining hall, when you correctly picked up the chopsticks and pronounced a word you had heard only once."
The moment surfaced in my memory immediately. Yes — I had adjusted the chopstick grip almost without thinking, and then said that "duìbuqǐ."
"As a rule, enlightenment precedes illumination," the Master continued. "Enlightenment — it is like a flash of understanding. It comes, sooner or later, to any diligent person who works long and stubbornly at one problem. Or, as in your case, when a critical moment arrives and you simply grasp something — that also happens. You saw the essence hidden behind the form. But illumination—" he paused, and his voice dropped lower — "is a rare phenomenon. Very rare. You were fortunate to experience it. In essence, you merged with the flow of qi — you ceased to be an observer and became part of it. Unfortunately, such a state tends to visit a person only once in a lifetime. At most twice. I, for example—" he shook his head, and a momentary bitterness moved through his eyes — "in all my long life, have never been able to reach illumination."
His words made me feel faintly uncomfortable. This powerful old man, capable of moving at incomprehensible speed, had just admitted that he had never achieved what he believed I had managed accidentally.
Illumination. No. What he had observed from the outside as a mystical breakthrough was, from my side, the final stage of a complex, multi-layered process. I had not "grasped" qi. I had tuned my body and mind to its frequency using every available tool. I had not merged with the flow — I had calculated and aligned myself with it. The difference was fundamental, but explaining this to the old Master was something I obviously wasn't going to do. Let him think what he wished. What mattered was that the method had worked.
"Do not be embarrassed," he said, as though reading my thoughts. "This is a gift. And it must be valued." He paused. "Value it, but do not be proud." He turned and gestured for me to follow.
"In a day or two, when you have grown accustomed to qi within your body and learned to direct it even to the smallest degree, you will finally be able to use the Knowledge Crystal."
"How?" I asked, reaching into my pocket as I walked, where the crystal still sat. "I don't know how to direct qi."
"It is simple," he answered, without turning around. "Simply focus on the crystal and mentally direct into it a tiny particle of the qi you now feel inside yourself. The rest will happen on its own. The crystal will do everything for you."
We walked through the dark and empty lanes of the dojo, and before long I recognized the dining hall building. That surprised me — it was night, after all. Pai Mei anticipated my reaction and allowed himself a small smile.
"Don't be surprised. I too trained in these halls once, sometimes into the small hours of the night, and afterward I always came here. The cooks know of this tradition. It is several centuries old. For a student who has come to know qi, who has reached enlightenment, and especially illumination — food must always be available."
He pushed open the door and we went in. The large hall was dim and empty, with only a narrow strip of light coming through a slightly open door in the far corner — the kitchen, apparently. Pai Mei went behind the counter and returned a few seconds later with an ordinary bowl filled to the top with rice and pieces of chicken, and a pair of chopsticks. He set them on one of the tables.
"Sit. Eat."
I didn't delay. I picked up the chopsticks and began eating the cold but incredibly good rice.
Pai Mei watched me with his habitual composed expression, then moved away and returned with a small clay teapot. He held it in his hand, and I saw that a faint blue luminescence briefly enveloped his palm and fingers, sending goosebumps across my skin. Thick steam rose from the teapot immediately, and the smell of freshly brewed herbal tea drifted through the air.
I couldn't help but stare at him, stopping chewing for a second. Pai Mei, noticing my gaze, poured tea into a small cup and set it in front of me.
"Qi is capable of many things, Gan," he said, and his voice carried the tones of a teacher again. "With it one can heal, destroy, protect — or simply warm a teapot. Everything depends on skill and intention. Tomorrow you will receive your first study materials. When you have learned the local language and can understand our speech, your true training will begin. You have taken only the first step, and there is still a long road ahead."
I finished the rice in silence, drinking the tea, and then decided to ask what had been sitting on the tip of my tongue since his praise.
"Master Pai — isn't it remarkable, in fact, that I felt qi so quickly?" I nearly said "reached illumination" but couldn't quite bring myself to use the word. It would have sounded too self-important. "I mean, for an outsider who didn't even know what it was two weeks ago."
Pai Mei smiled, and a condescending edge moved through his eyes.
"It is a good result, Gan. A very good one. But not remarkable. And certainly not phenomenal."
That was slightly sobering. I had thought I'd done something exceptional.
"Those kids in the courtyard — they take years to grasp qi, as I understand it?" I said, nodding in the direction of the barracks.
"Yes," he replied. "But those are children from ordinary families. They come here for the chance. Their parents are farmers, craftsmen, hunters. They can give their children food and a roof. But in Ta Lo there are noble families as well — ancient, wealthy, and powerful clans."
His gaze became distant.
"There — the standards are different. One encounters geniuses who grasp qi in a day or two. And there are some," he paused briefly, "who sense it within a few hours, on the first meditation. So your result, Gan — while impressive for an outsider — in the broader ranking is simply a good start."
Honestly, this brought me down somewhat. I wasn't some exceptional talent. Just a stubborn person with a system in his head. But immediately a small worm of curiosity began to stir.
"Is there really such a large difference in standing?" I couldn't hold back the question. "Between someone who sensed qi in two days and someone who did it in two hours?"
"Oh, immense," Pai Mei said, shaking his head, and a subdued, carefully contained bitterness crossed his face for a moment. "Noble families can afford things that ordinary students don't even dream of. Expensive formations for concentrating qi, specialized training rooms where the body is subjected to extreme but controlled loads without injury. And, of course, alchemy."
"Alchemy?" I sat up slightly. It sounded like something from those novels — except this was apparently real.
"Of many kinds," he nodded. "From inexpensive decoctions that simply reduce fatigue, to extraordinarily costly pills and elixirs. The latter can multiply the rate of qi accumulation many times over, strengthen its flow, temporarily sharpen perception — or even permanently fortify the soul. Everything depends on the purity of the ingredients and how the elixir interacts with a specific body. The purer and more effective — the more expensive. Some pills cost as much as an entire large village earns in a year."
*This is a direct solution to my characteristics problem. A direct investment of resources into leveling up.*
"And — can these things be purchased?" I asked, trying to conceal the growing excitement.
Pai Mei gave me a gently reproving look.
"You should not count on that, Gan. This is a luxury for nobility — or for those prepared to spend their last coin on it, and more often both at once. You haven't even begun to earn anything yet, and the work available to students is paid very modestly. Enough for new clothing and the simplest salves. Nothing more."
I nodded, performing understanding. But plans were already building inside me. All right, not now. But someday — I would work out this alchemy and these formations. If there were legitimate ways to accelerate progress, it would be foolish not to use them. My System had already given me a head start, and if I combined it with the local "boosts"—
Pai Mei, noticing my expression, sighed.
"Don't run ahead of yourself, Gan. Right now you need to rest and grow accustomed to qi in your body. Become familiar with this new sensation. Well — it's late, and tomorrow a new school day begins for you."
He rose, and I did the same, feeling a pleasant fatigue spreading through my body — but without the familiar exhaustion.
"Thank you for the meal — and for the conversation, Master Pai," I said, giving a slight bow.
"Good fortune, Gan," he nodded, and turning, stepped silently out of the dining hall and disappeared into the night.
I stood in the quiet of the empty hall for another couple of minutes, then sighed and made my way back to my room. My head hummed with new information. Noble families, geniuses, alchemy, formations.
Stepping into my room, I closed the door and leaned against it. That same warm, unfamiliar sensation of qi still resonated inside me. This world of Ta Lo was turning out to be far more complex, and far more unequal, than I had imagined. But alongside that, new possibilities were opening. I just needed to find the key to them.