Chapter 47

That name was like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through his mind.

Doctor Strange—the future guardian who would wear a red cloak and wield the Time Mirror.

And now, he was going to become one of the guides on this man's path of cultivation?

He could almost picture what the other man would be like when he first arrived: arrogant, sharp-edged, a genius whose hands had been broken by reality.

Would someone like that heed anyone's guidance?

The scent of cedar drifted in through the window, mixed with the distant murmur of chanting.

Zhao Yu lowered his gaze to his palms, which had yet to bear the marks of time.

Mordo and Zhao Yu exchanged a glance, and silent emotion spread through the air.

Was this the power of the Sorcerer Supreme? Space seemed to fold and unfold beneath invisible hands. The surroundings rapidly faded, reassembled, and finally solidified into a simply furnished meditation chamber.

Almost at the same moment, the door was pushed open, and a figure stumbled through the doorway.

The newcomer first saw the three people in the room.

His gaze was urgent and weary as it swept quickly across their faces. "Excuse me... which one of you is Master Ancient One?"

His voice was hoarse, as though a long journey had worn away its shine.

"This is she."

Mordo rose from his cushion and lifted a hand in indication.

Zhao Yu's gaze, meanwhile, settled on the newcomer, missing no detail.

The man held himself tightly in his arms. Every step was difficult and unsteady, his hair tangled in disarray, his chin covered in stubble. His entire being carried the dejected air of someone life had beaten down again and again, almost making him resemble a homeless ** on the street.

Ancient One handed him a freshly poured cup of hot tea.

The man practically snatched it with both hands. The warmth of the cup seemed to loosen his frozen fingers slightly.

"You cured someone named Pangborn."

He held the teacup without drinking, his eyes fixed on Ancient One. "A patient with full-body paralysis."

"You could say that."

Ancient One lifted her own cup, the faintest curve appearing at the corner of her mouth.

"A spinal cord injury at C7 and C8. How did you do it?"

The question shot out like **, carrying a surgeon's characteristic insistence on certainty.

Hot water poured into the teapot, bringing with it a soft hiss and curling white steam.

Ancient One's voice blended into it, calm and unruffled. "He could not stand at the time.

"I made him believe that he could."

"Don't tell me this was nothing more than some kind of psychological suggestion therapy."

Strange's tone held obvious suspicion, even a trace of angry irritation at being toyed with.

He folded his arms, the posture both a physical means of self-protection and a psychological defense.

Ancient One did not answer at once.

She gently closed the folding fan in her hand and set it aside.

This person who always seemed to wear the faintest smile now looked as though she could see through flesh and directly into the other man's restless soul.

She knew all too well the man standing before her—brilliantly talented, yet fed by that very talent into looking down on everyone else.

To guide him, the first step had to be shattering that hard shell of arrogance.

And before the existence known as Zhao Yu, Ancient One had yet to see anyone fully preserve their pride.

She could not help but grow curious: when this proud genius, so much like Tony Stark, met Zhao Yu, what kind of sparks would fly?

"There is no need to worry, Strange."

She finally spoke again, her voice gentler but beyond dispute. "At Kamar-Taj, there is no one more suitable than you.

"Mordo will take on the main responsibility of teaching you.

"All you need to do is assist from the side."

She rose to her feet, her robes brushing the floor without making a sound. "Come. It is time to take you to meet him."

As soon as she finished speaking, she casually lifted a hand.

Everything around them began to flow and distort once more.

Strange's voice rang through the air.

"The process of reconnecting nerves is essentially a form of self-repair."

"You mean regeneration on a cellular level?"

"So you found a way to regenerate cells here?"

"So you chose this place for research to avoid the medical association's oversight?"

He tried to interpret the being called the Sorcerer Supreme through the scientific framework he knew best.

Ancient One's lips lifted slightly.

"No, Mr. Strange.

"What I mean is how to guide the soul into healing the body more effectively."

"Absurd... This is absurd."

Strange pressed his fingers hard against his temple, as though trying to suppress a pain about to burst free. "I gave up everything for this one-way ticket, and you tell me healing depends on faith?"

"When the facts exceed the boundaries of your understanding, you refuse to see ** instead."

Ancient One's voice remained steady.

"Enough. I'm leaving this place."

Strange turned to go.

Ancient One raised a hand and gently pressed her palm against his shoulder—then, in the next instant, Strange felt some weight stripped from within him, and his vision abruptly flipped.

He saw his body still standing where it was, while he himself floated in midair.

Mordo drew a quiet breath beside him, a trace of admiration flashing through his eyes.

A moment later, his soul returned to its place.

Strange opened his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Teach me."

"Not yet."

Ancient One shook her head and signaled Mordo to lead him out of the room.

The door closed behind them, and the sound of footsteps fading away echoed through the corridor.

"Let him come back after some time."

Ancient One turned to Zhao Yu, who had remained where he was. "Only then will his mind truly settle, and he will be ready to learn."

The two looked at each other for a moment, understanding smiles appearing on both their faces.

***

Several days passed before Mordo brought Strange back and settled him in his quarters.

Morning light streamed through the wooden lattice window. Mordo and Zhao Yu stood side by side, preparing to begin the day's lesson.

Before the morning light had fully driven away the chill, they were already standing before Strange.

He seemed to have grown accustomed to life at Kamar-Taj.

At the very least, compared to his helpless confusion during the first few days, the man standing ** on the training ground now had less panic in his expression.

Mordo had brought him over, along with another young man.

Their footsteps stopped.

Strange's gaze moved between the two of them before settling on the unfamiliar young face. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. "Master Mordo,"

He turned to the guide he knew better, his voice measured. "This one... is he also proficient in those arts? Perhaps it would be more appropriate for you to instruct me personally."

The doubt in his eyes was undisguised.

After all, the person beside Mordo was far too young, even resembling a student still on campus.

The person being watched merely returned his gaze calmly.

A faint smile appeared on Mordo's face. Turning to his companion, he said, "Show him something. Let him see.

"That way, he can put his mind at ease."

There was no verbal response.

The young man called Zhao Yu raised his hand and pointed forward with one finger.

A golden line suddenly lit up in the air, swift as a snake. It coiled upward and, in an instant, bound Strange in place so tightly that he could not move.

"Is this enough?"

The man bound by the chain—the one who would one day be known as Doctor Strange—opened his eyes wide.

The force restraining him was undeniably real, its faintly warm energy pressed against his skin. "Incredible..."

He drew a breath, astonishment suppressed in his voice. "This power... is real."

The golden light faded, and the restraints vanished.

Strange immediately straightened up, his eyes burning as he stared at the caster. "How did you do that?"

"Focus your intent."

It was Mordo who answered.

He stepped half a pace forward, standing between them. "Being able to come here already means you possess a certain aptitude.

"Gather your mind, and you will be able to touch that flowing energy."

"Oh? So I don't need to do this?"

Following the instruction, Strange tried it. His fingers awkwardly drew an irregular arc through the air.

"That is only an aid."

Mordo watched his clumsy movements, his tone even. "If your focus is strong enough, you naturally will not need gestures.

"When mental power reaches a certain level, the body becomes nothing more than unnecessary decoration."

Zhao Yu remained at the side, not joining the conversation.

His eyes were slightly lowered, like a tranquil statue, allowing the voices of the two men to travel back and forth through the cool air.

Every practitioner at Kamar-Taj had to go through that process.

Ordinary people found it difficult to fully concentrate their awareness, much less draw upon the power hidden within them.

That was why bodily movements became a necessary medium.

But Zhao Yu knew that the man before him might not need them.

"What should I do?"

Strange's voice carried confusion.

"Focus your mind, then reach out and touch that power."

Mordo stood beside him, tracing through the air with his fingers. "Your hand is an extension of your consciousness. Make it move."

Zhao Yu heard his name being called.

He raised an arm, palm facing upward—dark red patterns of light emerged beneath his skin, rapidly weaving themselves into a translucent shield, with sparks drifting from its edges like fragments of fire.

Strange instinctively ran a hand through his curly hair. "How is this possible?"

He stared at the shield, then recalled the golden chains that had bound him earlier. "Those things... they simply do not follow the laws of physics."

"Laws?"

Mordo laughed. "Science is merely a systematic explanation of observable phenomena.

"As long as it can be understood and used, why can't magic fall within the scope of science?"

He stepped closer, the soles of his boots making a soft scraping sound against the stone floor. "Prejudice blinds you, Strange.

"We are only coming to understand another kind of energy in the universe, and learning how to borrow it—just as you doctors come to understand nerves and blood vessels."

Strange's fingers moved futilely through the air, but nothing happened.

He stared at his open palm, as though something should have appeared there, yet only the lines of his hand stretched beneath the dim light.

The room was quiet. He could hear the faint ticking of a distant pendulum, along with his own breathing gradually growing heavier.

"This is just..."

He spoke softly, then swallowed the rest of the sentence, turning it into a frustrated sigh.

Intangible? No, it was worse than that.

It was like being told to grasp a wisp of smoke, or commanding a shadow to stand up.

The man named Zhao Yu had been observing from the side the entire time.

His posture was relaxed, even a little too casual, and an unreadable curve rested at the corner of his mouth.

When Strange failed once more and was nearly about to fling his hand away in frustration, Zhao Yu's voice cut in. It was not loud, but it was so clear that the air seemed to freeze for an instant.

"Perhaps,"

Zhao Yu said, "you do not necessarily need to rely on your hands."

Strange turned his head.

He saw that Zhao Yu had not even raised his arm. He merely stood there, his gaze resting on the empty space ahead.

Then the air began to change.

It was not a vibration, nor was it a distortion, but a kind of... condensation.

Fine, glowing red threads wove themselves into existence out of thin air, silent and soundless, like filaments of blood seeping in from another dimension.

They intertwined and spread. They did not move quickly, yet they carried an undeniable inevitability.

In the blink of an eye, a complex barrier with a dark red sheen floated there, a faint halo flowing along its edges.

The thing drifted in perfect sync with the slightest movement of Zhao Yu's gaze, as stable as though it had grown there.

It even adjusted its angle slightly, as though it were alive and responding to an unspoken will.

Beside him, Mordo's breathing stopped.

His eyes widened as he stared fixedly at the red barrier, the muscles in his face tightening for an instant.

He had asked Zhao Yu to demonstrate something, but he had not expected this kind of... almost provocative mastery.

"How..."

Strange heard his own voice turn dry, his throat tightening. "...did you do that?"

"Drive everything else out of your mind."

Zhao Yu replied without even taking his eyes off his creation, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Leave only one thought.

Let the rest happen on its own."

He said, "It's simple."

.

His expression and tone truly made it sound like he was stating an obvious fact, something so simple it was hardly worth mentioning.

For Zhao Yu, the process really was not complicated.

Those "things" that existed deep within his consciousness—

—he habitually understood them as entities with distinct temperaments—each possessed a vastly different "personality."