Moving a Rock (Seeking Recommendations)

Mr. Popo withdrew his finger and folded his hands back in front of him, his tone returning to that flat, emotionless state. "Move that stone. But this time—do not erupt your ki. Let your ki flow like water, calmly and naturally, through your body and into the stone. Then, at the very moment your ki touches the stone, let it tell the stone: it is time to move."

"Tell the stone... it is time to move?" Son Goku looked down at his palms.

Let the ki flow like water. Not crashing and rampaging through his body, but—flowing through.

He closed his eyes.

Inside him, the white flames were still surging. He could feel that violent power colliding within his veins; every thread of ki had a mind of its own.

In the past, he had never tried to control it, only cranking the switch to the maximum and blasting it all out. But now—

He tried to stop managing it.

Not suppressing it, not binding it, just—refusing to add fuel to the fire.

He imagined the stream at Mount Paozu, the little creek that had flowed behind his cabin for as long as he could remember. It did not rush when the spring floods came, and it did not complain when the winter ice formed. Water never fought with stones; it flowed around them, around tree roots, around everything that blocked its path. Yet, after thousands of years, the stones were worn smooth, the roots were softened, and the water was still flowing.

His ki began to change.

It did not grow weaker—it grew quieter.

That mass of wildly churning white flame, the moment he stopped agitating it, slowed its rhythm of its own accord.

The tongues of fire retracted one by one, merging into a silent, invisible river that had formed without him noticing.

He felt his body become light, yet heavy. Light enough to be carried off by the wind at any moment, heavy enough that his feet felt as if they had merged with the Jade Plaza beneath him. Both sensations existed simultaneously, without contradiction—because he was no longer a "person standing on a stone slab."

Everything around him existed, all radiating a faint aura toward him. The steady breathing of the jade beneath his feet, the slow churning of the sea of clouds overhead, the morning dew on the pine needles in the distance that refused to fall, refracting a hexagonal glimmer.

And, in front of him.

The texture of the stone. Every coarse mineral grain, every inconspicuous hairline crack, every layer of sediment accumulated over millions of years. It was not a dead object. It had its own structure, hardness, and center of gravity—the spatial relationship it occupied was as clear as an unfolded blueprint in Goku's perception.

He reached out and pressed his hand gently against the rough surface of the boulder.

He exerted no force.

He simply guided that river out from his palm. A gentle, firm, and continuous power, like a trickle of water seeping into sand, flowed from his palm into the stone. He did not "push" the stone—he let his ki find the gaps between every mineral grain, gently filling it, wrapping around it.

Then, his ki resonated with the "ki" of the stone.

Then—

"Move."

He whispered in his heart. Not a command, not a roar. A request, an announcement.

The stream does not contend with the stone, does not fight it, but flows around it, permeates it, and eventually, with the patience of time, changes it.

The resonance between the ki and the stone reached a critical point in that instant—

The boulder trembled slightly.

Boom. A low, deep, muffled sound echoed.

Son Goku opened his eyes.

The three-meter-tall boulder was hovering above his palm. Three inches off the ground, no more, no less. It did not spin, it did not wobble; it simply stayed there quietly, as if held up by an invisible hand, maintaining exactly one palm's width of distance from the small, rough hand beneath it. The airflow moved slowly at the base of the stone, blowing the fine dust on the ground into a circular ripple.

He had succeeded.

Not with brute force, not with erupting ki, but—

Is this... a heart like still water?

He only asked the question in his heart once.

But he knew the answer; it was not "letting the heart be like stagnant water," but "the surface of the water being so calm that it reflects everything."

The stone was moving, his hand was moving, but his heart was not moving with them. That was why he could feel every tremor of the stone, why he could adjust the flow of his ki a step ahead before it lost its balance.

No waste, no struggle, no sound, not even any exertion—only a gentle, firm power completing in stillness what would have otherwise required a roar and an explosion.

"Barely passing." Mr. Popo's voice came from behind him, as flat as ever, but there seemed to be a faint, elusive hint of satisfaction at the end. "But you only held it for three seconds. Put it down. Again."

The hovering boulder dropped gently back to the ground with a dull thud.

Son Goku looked down at his palms; there was a fine layer of sweat on them, not from exertion, but because he hadn't even dared to breathe during those three seconds. Not because he was afraid the stone would fall, but because he was afraid the flow of ki would break. Three seconds. The three seconds Mr. Popo called "barely passing." He felt as exhausted as if he had fought a three-hour battle.

"Right. Again." He rubbed the stone dust off his hands, pressed his palm back onto the boulder's rough surface, and closed his eyes.

Days turned into weeks.

"Bang!"

The boulder slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Your ki broke for half a breath. Again." Mr. Popo stood at the edge of the plaza, his voice as flat as if he were reciting a menu.

"Boom!"

The stone hovered four inches off the ground, but it wobbled like a drunkard.

"The center of gravity is off. Again." Mr. Popo didn't even lift his eyelids.

"Crack—"

This time, it wasn't the dull thud of an impact. A fine line spread from the base of the stone, and then the three-meter-tall boulder split in two, crashing to the ground with a rumble and sending debris rolling everywhere.

Son Goku stood where he was, his hands still held in a hovering posture. He stared blankly at the tragically sacrificed training equipment and swallowed hard.

"The stone is broken. Start again." Mr. Popo pointed to the other end of the plaza—there, an entire row of identical boulders was lined up neatly in front of the pine wall, as if waiting in line to be beaten.

Son Goku resigned himself to his fate and walked toward the next stone.

During the first month, he felt this stone was his lifelong nemesis. By the second month, the stone began to feel lighter—no, it wasn't the stone that had lightened, but the ki within his body that had finally shifted from boiling water to warm water, and from warm water to a steady river with barely a ripple. By the third month, he could maintain it for an hour, two hours, and then an entire morning.

One day at the end of the third month, while balancing a boulder with one hand, he suddenly spoke: "Mr. Popo, can I try balancing one with each hand?"

Mr. Popo was silent for two seconds: "The other one is over there. Go move it yourself."

Son Goku set down the stone in his right hand and jogged to the other end of the plaza to fetch the second one.

Two massive boulders hovered above his palms, one on the left and one on the right. He could feel his ki split into two tributaries within his body, like a great river branching into two channels mid-stream; neither was hurried, neither was chaotic, and both flowed steadily into their respective stones.

He suddenly smiled. It wasn't a smug smile, but a pure joy born from achieving something he couldn't do before. This feeling was completely different from winning a martial arts tournament. Winning was an explosion, a boiling point, a momentary release. But the feeling of holding these two stones—it was quiet. It was a quiet that went deep into his bones, almost as natural as breathing.

"The morning in the Heavenly Realm is truly beautiful," he said suddenly.

Mr. Popo did not respond. But in that moment, Goku felt as if those white eyes had curved just a little bit.

In the fourth month, Mr. Popo finally spoke.

"Boulder training is finished."

Son Goku gently set the last stone back onto the ground.

On the surface of that stone, at some point, a shallow, five-fingered indentation had appeared—not from him gripping it, but worn away by the day-after-day erosion of his ki flow.

"Your ki is no longer consuming itself from within." Mr. Popo walked up to him, his white eyes scanning him from head to toe. "But you have only calmed the internal storm. What you must learn next is how to retrieve that seventy percent of your power from elsewhere. The final exam for the first stage of training is only one sentence. Answer me now: what is ki?"

Son Goku sat cross-legged on the ground, resting his chin in his hand as he thought for a long time.

Master Roshi said ki was life energy. Korin said ki was an extension of intuition during battle. But Mr. Popo's intent—it didn't seem to be either of those. He had asked him to hold the stones with ki, not to use ki as a weapon, but to use it as another hand. A hand isn't just for hitting people; it's for sensing.

"It is... an extension," he said slowly, letting every word pass through his mind before speaking. "Not an extension of a tool. It is an extension of touch. It's like having an invisible finger on your hand, or many fingers. When you use it to touch the stone, you can feel the inside of it—not just the surface, but every single grain of sand within." He looked up at Mr. Popo. "Were you asking me to use my ki to touch the stones?"

Mr. Popo was silent for a breath. Then, he performed an action Son Goku had never seen before—he nodded slightly.

"Passing."

Son Goku jumped up from the ground, his tail unable to stop itself from drawing a circle in the air behind him.

Seeing this, the corners of Mr. Popo's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Then, we begin the second stage of training."