Mah-Jung found himself in a kind of trance these last few days.
He often wandered the walls and courtyards of the Eternal Dragon commune on the occasions when he was not Dao-Walking or training in practice Katas. In truth, he felt more disconnected from the world the more time he spent in the Dao. To him, it seemed like this mortal realm was the unreal plane – a place where humans were nothing but pawns, moving pieces in the great game played out by forces far beyond their ken.
That was why he drew his frail fingers across the walls of the Dragon compound on these long days of training and meditation, making sure no Disciples saw him do so. It would not do to have them see the cracks forming in his mind – the doubts gnawing at his normally resolute purpose.
He could have been well on his way to progressing in the ranks of Mental Mastery by now. He could have been climbing the steps of his predecessors and grasping at strength that, at his level, he could only dream of.
But he had kept his talents locked. He had kept himself restrained from the ambitions of his fellow Disciples who wished to ascend to the ruins of heaven above. His place – he had known ever since he was a boy – was this earth. Firm. Solid. And yet with a will of its own that was rejecting him.
He slumped over as he made his way back to his chamber, practically stumbling into his doorframe, forehead drizzled with perspiration. He looked at his hand and found they were shaking beneath his purple robe.
No matter how long he looked into the Dao, willing himself to see the future he sought so desperately to find, he could not see himself standing beside the Planeswalker. Instead he saw dark tendrils piercing a veil of light, and another warrior stepping in front of him, looking back with the piercing eyes of a conqueror. And in the unreality that seemed, in that moment, far more lucid than the waking world, Mah-Jung had realized the horrible truth: he could never compete with a machine like that – a relentless, nigh-immortal automaton built to cultivate as he did, with a spirit that took him further than all the others in half as much time as a regular human needed.
How could a creature of flesh stand up to that? It was hubris – pure and simple – that compelled Mah-Jung to continue his training. It was his evil Ego – the thing that the Masters said was the true enemy that choked the Animus – that had taken hold of him the second he had seen the Cog and welcomed him into their midst. For in that moment, one thought had dominated his being: will this creature of steel surpass me?
Perhaps, he thought. That is the truth of my nature. Perhaps I simply do not wish to ascend passed Corporeal Temperer because I cannot fathom the notion of all those ranks above me. I simply wish to remain the strongest of my small group of initiates – someone they can always aspire to be. I wish to be the large fish in the tiny pond, always in control and yet knowing that there is a sea of greater beings beyond the scope of its world…
But in truth, there was much more behind his current hesitation. His purpose was faltering not simply because of his own Ego, but because he was realizing a fundamental truth that every Cultivator who reached the end of the first stairway to the Dao had to see.
“We are all connected.”
Mah-Jung’s reflections were interrupted by a normally bombastic voice that spoke now with a subdued, almost serene sense of quiet wisdom.
He turned at the entrance to his chamber, seeing the staggering form of Ori’un, the Planeswalker, standing before him.
And by the looks of the half-empty bottle of rice-wine in his great pudgy hand, the Disciple could intuit the reason behind his quiet demeanor.
“Mah-Jung, wasn’t it?” the hulking figure said, beckoning the Disciple into the courtyard with him where, curiously, not a single novice sat in meditation.
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“Excuse me, Planeswalker,” Mah-Jung replied. “I’m afraid I have over-exerted myself today. I was just about to rest.”
Ori’un’s eyebrows twitched as though someone had just told him a bad joke. “You? Oh no. That is not what I have observed in you, dear boy. The thoughts that fight for ownership of your head will do nothing to maintain an adequate sleep schedule. I hazard a guess you haven’t slept soundly in at least a month.
Mah-Jung bristled at being addressed as ‘boy’, but he could not dispute the Planeswalker’s assessment of his psyche.
“The coming tournament occupies my mind,” he replied. “As it does that of most of its contestants, save for XJ-V, perhaps.”
He immediately regretted speaking of the Cog, for in that moment Ori’un’s patronizing smile was out in full force.
But the Planeswalker did not reprimand the Diciple for his hubris as Mah-Jung suspected. Instead, he craned his neck, cracked the fingers on his free hand, and breathed deeply, his exhalations sending thin plumes of smoke into the courtyard that coiled around its edges like a living snake.
And before Mah-Jung’s ubelieving eyes, he saw the image of a child resolve before him. A child that was engaged in running and jumping through various Katas as his friends struggled to keep up with him, his eyes totally immersed in his toil.
So much focus. So much sheer, raw determination…those eyes were not the eyes of a child. They were the eyes of one who would be a warrior. The eyes of a dreamer, constantly pushing towards his goal.
“When I first came here to train,” Ori’un said through the whisps of memory he had formed in the commune courtyard. “There was a little boy that was always training harder than the rest. A boy who threw himself into the Dao with such force that the Masters often spoke of how he was born to walk it. This boy soared through the ranks and now, standing before me, he comes to a stop on the path of peace.”
Ori’un’s vision was interrupted – the little boy stopped and grew into the visage of an older man with dark, sunken eyes filled with wrinkles. His face was framed by dark shadows, eyes barely alight with life.
“Stagnation,” Ori’un says. “It’s the enemy of all things. You know this, don’t you? I’m sure old Longhua has drilled the teachings of the Dragon into you by now.”
“Of course,” Mah-Jung whispered, stepping towards the dark vision of himself and reaching out a single arm to touch its withered face. “I know I do myself no favors by stunting my progress. Still…”
“Still?”
“Still…I have always thought that there was another path to walk,” Mah-Jung said, making sure no one was around to hear him. “There is a world out there. You have seen it with your own eyes, Planeswalker. You have seen our fellow man cry out for help in the dark of the Wastes. Humankind dies, and we hoard our knowledge here, seeking the ruins of the heavens that will – what? Bring us some kind of nirvana? Some kind of eternal peace? What do I care for eternal peace, Planeswalker? How can I sit alone behind these stone walls while the world dies out there?”
Ori’un let his drink fall from his hand. It disappeared into the ether of his summoned-snake without a single rattle or clang.
“Such questions are the domain of Planeswalkers,” Ori’un said. “That, or simply the products of confused children who are stumbling as they climb towards their goal of reaching the Dao forever.”
“So, which am I?” Mah-Jung said, turning calmly while the vision of his corrupted form faded away.
“That is something you can only decide for yourself.”
Mah-Jung laughed. “I thought the Brothers all said you spoke in language clearer than the Masters. You well know I have no control over what the Dao has set in motion for me, Ori’un. No more than you do.”
“And yet,” the Planeswalker replied. “Still, you resist it. You know your path is written in ink upon these very stone walls you seem to despise. And yet you still refuse to see it.”
“Perhaps I am a child then,” Mah-Jung chuckled back, his words crystal clear even though he felt his spirit break as he looked into the dead eyes of his shadow-self. His Ego-self.
“Or perhaps,” Ori’un said. “You are only human.”
The vision disappeared abruptly, and Ori’un’s rice wine again returned to his hand as though it had never left him.
“You mean to fight in this tournament no matter what, don’t you?”
Mah-Jung nodded sternly. “Even if I win nothing but your scorn, Planeswalker, I will never stop fighting for what I want.”
“HAR!” the drunken giant laughed. “You know what? Maybe there’s more spunk in Longhua’s warriors than I thought. Maybe the old Master really is teaching you boys a few good lessons, even if he doesn’t mean to!”
The brute lumbered away, doing nothing more than nodding to Mah-Jung before he went.
“If we’ve got Disciples like you around,” he said. “Then maybe there’s hope for Cultivators yet!”
***
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