Bao awoke in a small, one-room hut, the morning sun filtering weakly through the bamboo walls. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp wood, and the rustle of leaves outside carried the low hum of the forest waking. Around him, other trainee monks were stirring, stretching, and yawning on their rice mats. Some whispered quietly; others sat cross-legged, eyes fixed in silent meditation. Bao pushed himself upright, limbs stiff, and dressed quickly, the rough fabric of his robe scraping against his skin.
Stepping outside, he breathed deeply, the cool morning air filling his lungs. Crested swifts darted through the treetops, their chirps mingling with the rustling leaves and distant calls of forest creatures. The village of the monastery sprawled before him: wooden walkways strung between huts, moss-covered stone steps, and lanterns still flickering as the early light revealed faded murals of serene Buddhas painted on temple walls.
At the temple entrance, other trainees greeted him with nods and smiles. Bao returned them cautiously, feeling the tension of yesterday's meditations linger in his shoulders. Inside, the hall was vast and quiet. Rows of young monks sat cross-legged, their robes tidy, faces serene—or attempting to be. Bao walked to the front, seated himself, back straight, legs crossed, and began to recite a mantra, letting the sounds vibrate through his chest.
A subtle shift in the air pricked at him, a presence that brushed his awareness but was not heard—felt rather than seen. Bao tried to ignore it, focusing on the rhythm of his breath, the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath him.
A hand touched his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see a young monk, his face calm yet intense. "My apologies," the monk said, bowing slightly. "I sensed a disturbance in your aura—it shines white and gold, but has dulled. It can be restored with guidance, if you wish it." His eyes held something calculated, assessing. This one has potential, he thought silently.
Bao hesitated, then nodded.
"Meet me at my hut beneath the dove tree, south side of the settlement," the monk instructed, and departed, leaving Bao's thoughts swirling like morning mist.
Meanwhile, Jin sat in the training hall, watching the head monk's precise movements as he instructed the class. The air was thick with the scent of incense and polished wood. Jin's body was tense, muscles aching from hours of practice, but he observed the older monk's grace, noting every controlled step and the fluid arcs of his arms.
A man entered—older, imposing, exuding a quiet, magnetic authority. The head monk bowed deeply to him. The newcomer's eyes scanned the room like a hawk, sharp and critical, before he spoke: "I am the Monk Supreme." His voice carried the weight of both expectation and judgment.
He lingered on each student with unnerving intensity, before addressing them: "I have noticed some of you seek the easy path, holding back your potential. This path will not suffice. Power must be cultivated, honed, or it is wasted." Several students were quietly demoted to the religious tier, and whispers of unease rippled through the room. Jin felt a tension in his chest, a mixture of intimidation and drive; he would need to work harder.
After training, Jin followed the stone path leading down to the riverside. Moss clung to the rocks, and wildflowers grew in bursts of color along the edges. He stooped to scoop water with his hands, but it trickled through his fingers.
Another student laughed lightly. "Here, take some from my bucket. You'll get little with your hands, and conserve energy."
Jin accepted, gulping the cool water, feeling it revive some of his drained muscles. "Thank you. I didn't realize how thirsty I was."
"My name is Fang," the other said, smiling. "How did you find today's training?"
Jin relaxed slightly, muscles loosening. "I'm Jin. Training was intense… but good. I feel like I've learned a lot."
Fang grinned. "And your progress?"
Jin frowned, honesty weighing him down. "I need to work harder… to become stronger. I cannot stay useless."
"Why not join me at the hot springs? You'll feel renewed," Fang suggested, eyes glinting with amusement.
The climb to the hot spring was steep, winding along the riverbank to a carved-out ledge where steam rose from pale blue water in a natural pool. Jin's muscles screamed, but the warm, fragrant air welcomed him.
"Go ahead," Fang urged. "The waters heal both body and mind."
Jin stepped in, letting the warmth envelope him. Muscles relaxed, tension released, and for a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, to forget the weight of his past. Fang settled opposite him, water rippling between them, and they talked. Light conversation gave way to deeper inquiries.
"So… what do you hope to gain here?" Fang asked, voice soft but probing.
"To grow stronger… to not be useless," Jin admitted, eyes downcast.
"And your story?" Fang pressed gently.
Jin hesitated, shoulders tensing. "My father… he was cruel to my mother and me. We ran, but…" He trailed off, not ready to relive it.
Fang nodded, eyes understanding, yet sharp with curiosity. "Whenever you are ready, you can share it."
Eventually, Jin rose, toweled off, and dressed. "Thank you, Fang. I feel… much better."
"You're welcome. See you around," Fang said, stepping back, the morning light catching his grin.
Jin returned to his quarters, lying on his simple bed, reflecting. Two weeks had passed. Memories of his mother and Bao lingered, tugging at his heart. A soft knock at the door drew him from his thoughts. He opened it to find a young woman, her eyes bright, calm.
"Hello, I'm Mei. It's almost time for dinner," she said.
Jin nodded, smiling despite the lingering ache in his chest. "Thank you… I appreciate it."
"How's your stay? Comfortable?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
"Yes. Thank you for asking," he replied, feeling the faint stirrings of peace.
Mei gave a small, polite nod and left. Jin watched the door close, letting the gentle rhythm of the monastery ease his mind.