Master

The sky had only just parted yin from yang, bringing with it a trace of warmth.

When Chen Chong woke, the light in the stone house was still gray and hazy. A thin sliver of pale light filtered through the cracks in the window, making the patterns on the stone table barely visible. He sat up and rolled his shoulders. He had slept wonderfully the night before—no dreams, no waking in the middle of the night, just one uninterrupted sleep until dawn.

The stone really did seem to have a faintly sleep-inducing and invigorating effect. It did not make him feel heavy when he slept or groggy when he awoke; his whole body felt suffused with a clear, refreshing energy.

When he left the stone house, the mountain mist had yet to disperse. The gravel path was slick with moisture, and dewdrops hung from the leaves of the shrubs beside it. In the distance, the main peak appeared and vanished within the mist, like a painting rendered only in blurred ink. Following yesterday's memory, Chen Chong walked along the stone steps toward the main peak.

The main peak. Farther ahead, halfway up the mountain, stood a bamboo grove.

The bamboo's emerald green was especially striking in the morning mist. It spread in vast swathes, carpeting everything from the mountainside all the way down to the foot of the mountain.

The wind passed through the bamboo grove, setting the leaves rustling like flowing water, or whispered words. Chen Chong stepped inside. Thick bamboo leaves blanketed the ground, soft and soundless beneath his feet. A narrow path wound through the grove, trampled into being by years of foot traffic, curving between the bamboo stalks.

Out in the open, a boy was meditating.

The place where he sat was quite unusual. A platform