A Very Patient Monk

Lin Yu had been traveling westward for three days, two mountain lion chases, and one unfortunate run-in with a sentient cabbage cart.

He hadn’t slept much, hadn’t bathed at all, and had successfully terrified no fewer than four roadside fortune-tellers — not because of his power, but because he kept finishing their cryptic sentences for them while snacking loudly on roasted peanuts.

“You will meet—”

“—a wise old man who throws rocks at me. Yes, yes, keep up. Also your eyebrows are uneven.”

It was late afternoon when he found himself standing at the mouth of a long, mist-covered ravine. Trees arched overhead like silent watchers, and stones shaped like ancient teeth jutted out from the path ahead.

And right in the center, as if plucked straight from a painter’s brush, sat a man in golden robes, legs folded, hands resting in his lap, face as still as stone.

Lin Yu blinked. “Oh, hey. You’re one of those ascetic guys, huh?”

The man didn’t respond.

“You gonna challenge me or something?”

Still nothing.

Lin Yu glanced left. Then right. Then waved.

Still nothing.

“Okay. You’re either a very dedicated monk, or you’re dead.”

The monk opened one eye. Just one. And in that single eye was a depth that made Lin Yu’s stomach hiccup.

“You carry the scent of wild Qi,” the man said at last, voice dry like brittle paper. “Unrefined. Untamed.”

“Well, I did skip my morning cultivation and also I think I stepped in yak dung.”

“You lack discipline.”

“I lack the ability to care about discipline.”

The man exhaled through his nose — which somehow sounded judgmental. Then, slowly, he stood, dusting off his robes. “To pass this path, you must survive the Trial of Qi.”

Lin Yu’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh, is it like a secret ancient fighting technique? Does it come with fireworks? Or a cool nickname like ‘Thousand Palm Crater Storm’?”

“Silence,” the monk snapped.

Lin Yu shrugged. “Alright, hit me with your lecture.”

And so, under the golden light of dusk, the monk raised his staff and began to speak — not in words alone, but in presence. The air itself seemed to ripple with meaning.

“Qi,” the monk intoned, “is life. Not just breath or blood — but the pure force of existence, woven into every being. It flows from the center of the body, through channels unseen, and can be cultivated, shaped, sharpened.”

Lin Yu nodded, tapping his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Latent energy. Fighting power. Got it. Like… breathing, but for punching mountains.”

The monk frowned. “There are physical limits to the human form. But by drawing out Qi — channeling it — one surpasses those limits. One becomes more.”

“Monsters use it too,” Lin Yu added. “Though theirs smells worse and sometimes causes dramatic lightning.”

The monk did not laugh. Monks rarely do. “To manipulate Qi is to grasp your essence. Fail, and your body shatters. Succeed, and the world bends.”

“Okay,” Lin Yu said, stretching. “My turn?”

He raised one hand, exhaled once through his nose… and the entire ravine trembled.

The wind paused. Leaves froze midair.

Qi erupted from his body like a tidal wave of lightning and raw instinct — wild, yes, but somehow focused. Not like the practiced control of the monk, but like a river that had simply decided it no longer wanted to be a river and had instead become a dragon.

The monk’s robe fluttered. His staff cracked.

Lin Yu lowered his hand, looking sheepish.

“Oops. Did I… do the thing too hard?”

The monk stared at him. Then bowed — just slightly.

“You are… infuriating. But powerful.”

Lin Yu grinned, turning to the invisible camera again. “Aww, I like this guy. He speaks in riddles and compliments. It’s like having a fortune cookie with legs.”

The monk, wisely, chose not to respond.

Instead, he stepped aside and gestured forward. “The west awaits, Monkey.”

Lin Yu tilted his head. “You know that’s not my actual name, right?”

“It suits you.”

Lin Yu beamed. “It really does.”

And then he sprinted down the path, hair flying, Qi pulsing in his wake — a blazing comet of trouble and potential.

The journey west had truly begun.

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