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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 8: Mana and Metal

Urban Ascent

My eyes suddenly snap open, and before I know it, I’m already sitting upright in bed. I glance over at the clock—5:00 AM. Hmm? That’s weird. It’s an hour before my alarm usually goes off, but I feel wide awake. My thoughts drift back to yesterday’s meditation, when I was clearing away some of those blockages. Did I finally get a good night’s sleep? I can’t remember the last time I woke up this easily—and without an alarm.

Maybe it’s just the excitement. After all, I’m about to send in my totally-not-made-up excuse to my manager and take the rest of the week off. Too lazy to call the answering service like I’ve been told to do countless times, I just shoot an email directly to the inbox that receives the messages from them, skipping the middleman. Whatever—they’re already going to be annoyed that I’m taking time off. So what if they’re a little extra upset that I’m not following protocol? Phone calls are so archaic—who even calls anyone at this point?

Stretching dramatically as I get out of bed, I let out a yawn and make a beeline for the kitchen. It’s still warm this morning, so I opt for iced coffee. And by that, I mean a premade carton of the stuff I keep in the fridge. As I shake the container and pour the gurgling contents into a glass over a few miserly cubes of ice, I see the telltale signs of an empty carton as the last remnants of froth come up to top off my glass.

Tossing the now-empty carton into the trash, I grab a straw from the cabinet on my way over to the couch. I pick up the bag of jewelry off my desk as I plop down, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. Lazily sipping my iced coffee, I start brainstorming how I’m going to go about enchanting this jewelry. I furrow my brow slightly as I remember, belatedly, that I forgot to add a splash of sweetened creamer. Ready to drink, my ass—this isn’t nearly sweet enough.

Too lazy to get back up and walk the five feet to my fridge, I suffer in silence as my thoughts drift back to my idea from last night. With no better ideas coming to mind, I figure “refining” the jewelry as if I were cultivating it is as good a place as any to start. Hopefully, some sort of noticeable change will occur, and if I’m lucky, it’ll create a kind of “core” of its own to hold a little mana. That’s the first step. Then I’ll figure out how to add instructions to the mana or whatever. In the back of my head, I’m thinking it’ll be something like programming, but there’s no point worrying about that now when there’s nothing in the ring to power it, right?

After all, the whole point of this is for the ring to exude a natural charm on its own—enough to make a passerby willing to fork over a ludicrous 3x markup for this cheap silver trash. I take another regretful sip of bitter coffee before finally setting the glass down and rummaging through the bag of baubles. A simple silver band with a silver rose charm set on it catches my eye. For some reason, I keep thinking back to all the novels where they talk about inscribing jade. I wonder if it has something to do with the properties of certain minerals.

Somehow, I doubt these cheap, manufactured glass crystals will be as receptive. It’s the silver itself that will have to act as the housing for my magic. So what better to start with than the ring made entirely of silver—well, sterling silver, to be precise—but that’s beside the point.

Trying my best to push away all the distracting internal monologue I’m prone to, I empty my mind and focus solely on the ring and my connection to it. I gently hold the ring between both hands, almost as if I’m using the silver as a contact to complete the circuit my arms are making.

As my core begins pumping mana into my left arm, I force it to flow through the silver ring with the intent to “refine it,” carving out an energy center within the ring. Meanwhile, I do my best to sense the energy on the other side, pulling it back through with my right hand. My intent is to only pull back clean energy, imagining the mana being strained and purified before it’s allowed back into my body.

After all, I don’t need any more impurities or blockages—I have plenty of those already. So I go slowly, taking care to avoid causing any unforeseen accidents. It might be more prudent to just let the energy go to waste, but with how precious little I have, and the time I’ve spent refining it, I want to recapture as much as I can.

Especially given what that old man said about me leaking mana like a sieve—more than just the residual mana passing through the ring but not being used up in the process. There’s plenty of mana that doesn’t even enter the ring at all. I can feel it—it’s the same as when I output mana normally, just hovering in the air. If left alone, all that energy would simply dissipate back into the atmosphere.

Between what’s actually being used to refine the ring and what’s being lost to the air, it seems like I’m only capturing less than half of what I send out. But still, getting back even half is a hell of a lot better than getting none of it back. Thinking about it this way, I’m essentially able to take 100 points of mana and circulate it through the ring in an attempt to refine it.

Fifty points get taken back in through my right hand, only to be sent through again in another cycle. I’m careful to keep reusing the same energy rather than pouring more mana into the ring from my core. I continue this recycling current: 50 becomes 25, becomes 12.5, 6.25, 3.12, 1.56, and when it reaches less than a single point, I can’t even tell if I’m feeling it anymore.

Let’s say only half of the energy that makes it to the ring actually refines it. By the time I lose track of the energy, I’ve sent that same 100 points of mana through it seven times, so roughly 49.21 points should have gone into refining the ring. I can’t say I’m thrilled about wasting over half the energy I put into it—but I quickly put my disappointment aside as I check to see if this was all worth it.

Again, I focus on sending mana through my left hand and into the ring, but this time, much slower. With the tiniest trickle I can manage, I gently push a little mana into the ring—this time with the intention of filling a small reservoir.

I’m practically holding my breath at this point, pushing my focus to its limits, trying my best to feel the flow of mana into the ring and to sense any leaks. And from what I can tell, none at first. Then finally, a small "leak" appears. After checking it a few times, I note that it’s almost identical to the amount of mana I’m sending into the ring. When I stop the flow, the leak stops with it.

I keep watching the ring closely, but no matter how long I wait, the energy doesn’t seem to go anywhere.

“Yes!” I can’t help but shout, even though I’m completely alone at the crack of dawn. Slightly embarrassed by my outburst, I hope I didn’t wake any of my neighbors. But I couldn’t help it—it actually worked! This ring is holding mana all by itself, and none of it’s leaking out. That must mean I was successful in storing the energy—but wait, how much energy?

I focus again on the ring, slowly drawing the energy back from it to estimate how much I initially put in. Being careful not to let any energy slip away, I absorb it all back. I’m a little disappointed—even though it was my first attempt—because I only absorbed about 25 points of mana back from the ring. Earlier, I clearly spent nearly 50 points charging it!

I don’t think any was lost when I charged or absorbed it back, so where did it go? Does the mana that I store in the ring get converted into something else? Like how you have to convert AC to DC power to charge a battery, and then back to AC to use it again? Maybe it’s just losses in conversion—that seems like the best explanation.

So for every 2 points of mana I put into the ring, I can only expect to get 1 point back. Not to mention the 100 points of mana I spent just creating the core in the ring in the first place. This is turning out to be a lot more trouble than I expected. One hundred fifty points of mana, just for 25 points of usable energy. That’s a 1:6 payout ratio—but I guess I should be happier that I succeeded at all, right? This is still better than it all blowing up in my face.

I need to stop being so negative and just take it all in stride. I’m still new at this. It’s only going to get better from here. I’ve got to stay positive and keep working toward my goal. What’s my goal, you ask? Never having to go back to work again!

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 7: Silver Strategy

Urban Ascent

As I slowly began packing up my things, I thought to myself: So what caught that old man's attention was all the mana I was radiating. I was being a lot more obvious than I had realized. I hadn’t considered what it might look like to someone who could also sense that energy. I hear what he’s saying—obviously, I need to go back and work on my foundation—but if that’s all I do, what’s the point? I want to have at least something to show for my efforts. It’s not like a little practice is going to hurt anything, right?

Still, he’s right about one thing: I don’t need to attract any more attention. This time it worked out, but what about next time? At the very least, I should stop using charm magic directly on people passing by. It would be more noticeable to other cultivators, and it could potentially cause offense to them.

Since I don’t know how common other cultivators even are in this world, I need to stay low-key. Instead of using such an overt output of energy in public, practically broadcasting that I’m a weak newbie cultivator who can be picked on, what if I bought some more expensive premade trinkets—jewelry, maybe—and focused on imbuing them with mana to make them more inherently desirable?

After all, I’ve read plenty of stories about spell arrays, formations, glyphs, and talismans. I should be able to do something like that with enough practice, right? That way, I can use mana in the privacy of my own apartment to avoid attracting any attention—getting some practice in while staying inconspicuous. But there’s no way I’m coming back to this flea market. If there’s one cultivator here, there might be two. So on the off chance there’s something about this place that tends to attract them, I need to stay well away from it.

I guess I’ll try a discreet stall outside of the shopping center after all. I could use a small folding stool and just have a couple of trinkets on display. If security does get called eventually, I’ll just move on to the next store. It’s not like I haven't seen similar things outside those stores before. I’m sure it would take at least twenty or thirty minutes before they start hounding me to leave, right?

I’m going to have to grow a thicker skin and just put up with it. Maybe I can wear one of those flu masks and really cover up my appearance as much as possible.

Eventually, I packed everything back into my truck and got back on the road. Speaking of trinkets, maybe I’ll stop off at Walmart and check out their jewelry department. They should have plenty of cheap silver rings with some glass stones and the like. If I can get them for under twenty bucks and sell them for sixty, that means just five rings a day will keep the bills away. So if I can sell at least twenty-five a week, I can afford to put in for some leave at work, which will give me a lot more time to cultivate.

Besides, after finally having something exciting in my life to work towards, the idea of spending forty precious hours a week sitting and pretending to look busy—while only having five hours of actual work to do—sounds like actual torture. It’s a fate all of my fellow office workers are well aware of. Well, except for the unlucky few of them actually keeping the company afloat with hard work—too bad all that hard work doesn’t reflect in their paycheck. Been there, done that. No thanks.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I checked the time—about 12:45 PM—and Walmart was certainly busy today. I guess it is Sunday, after all. But whatever. I think the jewelry department has its own register, right? Hopefully, they’re not too busy. After managing to find a lone parking spot nearly on the opposite side of the lot, I popped in my earbuds and strolled towards the entrance, lost in my own thoughts—half on autopilot as I made my way into the store.

Barely paying attention to where I was going, I suddenly found myself standing in front of the jewelry counter. And to my surprise, it was completely dead. I guess no one really shops for jewelry at Walmart, huh? I muttered under my breath, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Luckily, the jewelry was just as cheap as I’d imagined. Silver isn’t too expensive after all, and it’s not like these baubles weigh much. The first thing that caught my eye was actually just a plain silver band. No adornments—just a simple, unassuming loop of silver. But for some reason, it really called to me. If I’m practicing using my magic to… enchant—yeah, let’s call it that—these rings, I can’t help but think of the storage rings in those novels.

While I’m sure that’s way above my weight class at the moment, maybe I could inscribe something useful on it eventually. Who knows when inspiration might strike? Hell, maybe wearing it while I cultivate will help form some sort of bond with it or prepare it to be inscribed. Sure, I’m just talking out of my ass at this point, but it was only seventeen dollars, so I grabbed it.

After that, I picked up a few more rings, necklaces, and bracelets—twenty-six pieces in total, including the plain silver band I was already wearing—coming to a grand total of $468. I handed over the $337 in cash I’d made earlier and cringed as I swiped my card to cover the remaining $131 balance for this junk.

But you can’t make money without spending money. I’ll just think of this as an investment. After all, this gives me twenty-five pieces to sell. If I can flip them for at least sixty bucks each, that’s a decent margin—meaning I’ll clear a cool $1,000. That’ll more than cover my expenses for the week and make up for missing work.

I’m definitely calling in on Monday with some bullshit excuse to take the week off. It’s not like I’ve taken any time off recently, and with how little work I actually do, I doubt anyone will even notice I’m gone. Plus, this job isn’t exactly high-paying, so even if they do notice and I end up needing to find something else, it shouldn’t be too hard to replace. I’ve got enough savings to stay afloat for a few months, even if I don’t make anything right away. Still, I need to focus on making this plan work before I start dreaming too big. Sure, if I get good at it, I could start charging a hundred bucks a piece and cut my workload in half. But for now, I’ll take it one step at a time.

Eventually, I tossed the Walmart bag into the passenger seat and started the drive home. The silver band on my finger kept catching my eye. Who am I kidding? It’s just a plain ring. I smirked to myself—already imagining it becoming something way cooler than it had any right to be. But hey, dreaming big is half the fun.

I zoned out for most of the drive, replaying that weird conversation with the old man in my head. His words bugged me, but they also made too much sense to ignore. I needed a stronger foundation before I got ahead of myself—otherwise, I’d end up burning out. Still, that didn't mean I had to stop everything. I wasn’t about to sit around meditating 24/7 without at least trying something new.

By the time I got home, my apartment greeted me with its usual blend of cozy and claustrophobic. I kicked off my shoes and dropped the bag on the counter with a metallic clink. All that shiny silver staring back at me—I had to resist the urge to dive right into trying to work my magic on it.

But no. I knew better. First things first—foundation work. The old man had drilled that into me. So I headed to my little meditation corner—aka the only clean part of my place—and settled in for another round of trying not to screw up my energy flow.

Sitting there, I started to focus inward, guiding the mana through my body like I’d been practicing. Torso and head? Doing alright. Limbs? Not so much. Still, there was progress. After who knows how long, I’d managed to chip away at some of those blockages in my arms and legs—maybe 25% closer to what the old man would consider decent. Not too shabby, right? At least I was getting better at controlling the flow.

Eventually, I got up, stretched out the soreness, and looked over at that bag of jewelry. Tomorrow, I’d start messing around with the trinkets, maybe see if I could actually imbue them with something useful. I had this idea of running mana through them like they were an extension of me—sort of refining them as I went. Maybe I’d even figure out how to store mana in them for a little while.

But that was a challenge for future-me. I still had a lot to figure out. No point in burning out early by rushing things—one step at a time, like the old man said.

For now, though, I needed sleep. Tomorrow, the real experimentation would begin.

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 6: Meeting the Unexpected

Urban Ascent

The midday sun was high, casting harsh shadows across the flea market. The gentle hum of people moving between stalls filled the air, though the heat made it hard to enjoy. October in the valley was supposed to be cooler, but record highs were still clinging to life, and I could already feel the sweat prickling beneath my shirt. It probably didn’t help that I’d been continuously activating that subtle charm throughout the day, pushing my mana outward, trying to sway the minds of anyone who passed by—it was getting exhausting.

I couldn’t help but want to sell that last picture frame before I left. I had already made $337 today, but call it a sense of completionism—like trying to find the last hidden trophy in a game so I could finally earn the platinum full-clear award. The handful of keychains I had left were another matter altogether. They were just bits of plastic I’d printed ages ago, but this tablet was my last “big-ticket item,” and I had subconsciously set selling them all today as my goal.

Suddenly, I noticed an old man walking toward my stall—a small figure, hunched slightly with age, wearing an unassuming beige shirt with khakis. It was the kind of outfit so plain that it actually drew your eye to it. I focused, gathering my energy, trying to charm him just as I had with all the others who passed by.

But he kept walking, seemingly unfazed by my efforts. Perhaps subconsciously, since my first customer was an older woman, I wanted to end the day by selling this last tablet to this old man. It resonated with me, falling in line with my ever-growing fixation on the cyclical nature of the world. Or maybe I was just hot, tired, and ready to get out of this heat since I hadn’t been smart enough to bring any kind of shade with me.

I furrowed my brow in concentration, pushing more mana into my aura. This time I imagined my charm settling over him like a gentle cloud, inviting and warm. The old man slowed as he neared my stall, but he didn’t glance at the keychains or the tablet—he stared straight into my eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, and then he smiled—a gentle, knowing smile.

“You’re about ten years too early to be trying that half-assed charm magic on me, kid,” he said, his voice soft but carrying a weight that echoed in the space between us.

I blinked, the shock evident on my face. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. How did he know? Is he also a…?

The old man chuckled, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “You must be completely new to this, huh? A self-cultivator, if I had to guess,” he continued, his tone not mocking but almost... fatherly. “You didn’t think you were the only one out there, did you?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Of course, I wouldn’t be the only one out there—how could I have been so stupid? With as many stories as there are online, and even before that, all the ancient Chinese literature these stories were based on—of course someone else had tried this before me. If cultivation is real, people must have been doing this for hundreds of years now, maybe thousands. What’s that old saying again? There’s no smoke without fire. So, of course, if there are stories, there has to be at least a kernel of truth to them.

The old man stepped closer, taking a seat on the folding chair I had brought with me, as if he belonged there. He gestured to the assortment of items spread out on the table. “Not a bad way to practice, I suppose,” he mused, “but you’ve got a long way to go.”

His gaze shifted back to me, piercing but not unkind. “Let me guess—you somehow discovered the practice of cultivation, and even though you initially wrote it off, curiosity got the better of you. You actually sat down and tried to meditate, only to discover it was real. After some minor success in circulating this energy, you decided to see what you could do with it?” He didn’t wait for me to confirm. “Happens to all of us sooner or later, but don’t get too ahead of yourself. Charm magic—or any kind of external technique—requires a foundation. You’re leaking qi like a sieve. That’ll burn you out faster than you realize.”

I felt my mouth go dry. Burnout? I hadn’t even considered that. Sure, I’d felt tired after a long day of practice, but wasn’t that normal?

“You need control,” the old man continued, his voice patient but firm. He reached for one of the keychains on the table and began to stack them, one atop the other, slowly and carefully. “It’s like trying to write with a broken pen. You’ll never get clean lines that way. First, you need to strengthen your Sea of Qi and bring equilibrium to all your meridians.” Each movement was deliberate, his hands steady as the stack grew taller. “Without a strong base, everything you build is fragile,” he said, gesturing to the sturdy stack.

Then, with a sudden shift, he grabbed another handful of keychains and began haphazardly stacking them, quickly and without care. The pile teetered after a few layers, and with a soft clatter, it collapsed. He gave me a pointed look. “Rushing ahead without a proper base…” He let the broken stack speak for itself. “And you might find everything collapsing around you.”

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my voice hoarse with curiosity.

He still maintained that same smile, but this time, there was something deeper in his eyes—a hint of weariness, perhaps. “Someone who has been doing this for a long time. But that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is whether you're going to keep stumbling around in the dark, or if you're ready to learn.”

The proposition hung in the air between us. Was he offering to teach me? To guide me?

“But why would you—”

“Why help you?” he finished for me. “I suppose you remind me of someone I used to know.” A hint of sadness flitted across his eyes, but just as suddenly as it came, it was gone as if it was never there. “Someone who was stubborn and lost, but insisted on continuing down the path he set for himself, stumbling along in the dark, along a path he could barely even see.”

“I’m not sure just how stubborn you are yet, but I can tell that you're lost. And more importantly, just like him, you have a good heart. You might be a bit reckless, running before you even learned how to walk, but you're certainly not malicious. Even as you doubled your efforts on me after failing the first time with your charm, you never turned hostile. Instead, you redoubled your efforts, trying to become even more inviting and warm—not forceful or demanding. That’s why I stopped, actually. You can tell a lot about a person by how they act when under stress, and even when your charm wasn’t working, you maintained a clear heart. You tried to win me over with kindness, not sheer power and force.”

He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Besides, if you keep going like this, you’re going to attract attention you’re not ready for. And trust me, kid, you don’t want that kind of trouble.”

A shiver ran down my spine at his words—trouble, huh. I should feel lucky that the first attention I attracted was from this old man—at least he doesn't seem to have any bad intentions. What if it had been someone else? Someone malicious? My mind flashed with thoughts of the world of cultivators described in those novels, of all the cruel and petty actions of those with great power.

Imagine if I had accidentally offended some cruel, powerful cultivator with my actions just then. Hell, I’m lucky that I didn't have any bad intentions toward this old man, or this could have gone a lot differently, and my journey would have been over before it even started.

I couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat at the realization of the danger I had inadvertently been putting myself in without thinking.

“So what do I do?” I asked probingly.

“First, go back and practice cultivating. Try to focus on removing those blockages throughout your body until you can circulate your Qi without any resistance,” he said as he began to stand up. “Then we’ll go from there.”

“But how do I contact you?” I called out to his slowly departing back.

“Where you found me the first time,” he said without turning around. “Come here again on the first Sunday of November, and I’ll see if you're worth teaching,” he replied, continuing to shuffle unhurriedly away.

“And don’t go drawing any attention to yourself before you’re ready to protect yourself,” he added. Even though he was already over ten feet away, his voice rang clearly in my ear as if he were right in front of me, but strangely, no one else around even gave him a glance. I don’t get it. If that wasn’t a shout, then what was it—some sort of technique?

“He didn’t even leave me his name,” I muttered to myself. But I guess that’s how all the wise old masters are in the books, aren't they? Mysteriousness seems to come part and parcel with this whole cultivation schtick.

Actually, now that I think about it, he called it my Sea of Qi, didn’t he? That sounds straight out of some fantasy novel. I guess maybe I’m the odd one for calling it a core, but honestly, it already feels fantastical enough without labeling it a Sea of Qi. Still, if that’s what he called it, maybe there’s more to this than I understand.

He’s right about one thing, though—I shouldn’t keep drawing attention to myself before I’m able to protect myself. He might seem like a kind old man, but who knows if he has some sort of ulterior motive. He’s still a stranger at the end of the day. I’d be stupid to put too much faith in him.

I should call it a day. I really did want to sell that last tablet, but I’ve already made plenty for today, and nothing good ever comes from being too greedy. I need to spend the rest of the day trying to break up those blockages throughout my body. Slowly but surely, like the old man said—I need to walk before I can run. I just need to take it one step at a time.

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 5: Charm and Chance

Urban Ascent

As the morning light filters through the blinds, practically searing my still-closed eyes, I can’t help but cringe. Groaning, I roll over to shut off the alarm, you’d think that after all the meditation yesterday, waking up early would somehow feel... easier. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. I guess you can’t change your nature so easily, and saying I’m not a morning person would be putting it lightly. But, like with most things in life, you may not like it, but you still have to do it.

So, as I desperately try to convince myself it isn’t Sunday, I somehow force myself to roll out of bed and stumble through the living room and into the kitchen. Priorities—meaning first things first: coffee above all else. No coffee means no talkie, and no talkie isn’t going to get any sales. Actually, when I remember what exactly my plans are for today, I can’t help but let out another groan. That was definitely Saturday Nathan talking, and Sunday Nathan isn’t very happy about it.

But as my beloved kettle hums to life, I pour a spoonful of instant espresso into my mug, followed by a generous splash of sweetened vanilla creamer. Say what you will about the abomination I choose to drink to start my day, coffee snobs of the world. As much as I enjoy a good pour-over made with freshly ground beans, the fact that I’m even standing at this ungodly hour is enough of a feat. Expecting me to go to all that trouble first thing in the morning? That’s a hard no.

As I slowly come to terms with the awful reality of being conscious, I sip my coffee and wish I were still back in bed. But eventually, as with all mornings, I return to what passes for normal for me. What did my dad always say in the morning? "Waking you up is almost as hard as juicing a stone"—get it, since our last name is Stone? Groan. He always did love a good pun in the morning.

No time like the present, right? Small change of plans, though. Originally, I was thinking of hitting up a nearby shopping center, but after realizing the foot traffic might not be as good as I’d hoped first thing in the morning—and that I really don’t relish the idea of being chased away by security at some point during the day—I decided a better bet would be to start at the local flea market. After all, there are going to be a lot more people in the mood to buy my junk—err, knick-knacks. Certainly more likely than someone walking past me into the supermarket. After all, I’m not exactly selling Girl Scout cookies here. People’s "weirdo meters" would probably be off the charts seeing a 32-year-old bearded man sitting at a folding table outside their local supermarket with keychains and digital picture frames.

Despite my reluctance, I can’t help but feel a buzz of excitement beneath the haze of fatigue. Today is the day I test my charm magic on real people. No more theory, no more guessing. Just real-world application. I’m about to find out if I can use magic to sway people into buying stuff they don’t need. If that’s not modern-day wizardry, I don’t know what is.

Folding table, check. Spare sheet to drape over it, check. Trinkets from my 3D-printing phase, double check. I smile a little as I toss the keyrings into a box. Who knew hoarding your past phases would come in handy?

The four Android tablets sit on my desk, fully charged and ready to go. They don’t look half-bad with the black kickstands glued to the back. As digital picture frames, they’ve got a kind of charm to them—at least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself. But the real charm is going to be up to me after all.

With my goods ready to go, I awkwardly lug the table and chair downstairs and out to the parking lot to load up my truck. I’ve always tried to live by one rule above all others: one trip or bust. I’d rather crawl down the stairs like a snail, carrying everything in one go, than make a second trip. Not sure why, to be honest. As I wait for my old truck’s engine to warm up, I take the time to find a radio station I like and plug the address into the GPS—well, into my phone that’s resting in the cupholder, I mean. I’ve never been great with directions, so it’s pretty much a must for me.

Traffic was pretty much nonexistent, and after paying two bucks to park and another forty to rent a space, I finally had all of my stuff neatly spread out on the table. Now all I needed was some customers to actually try and sell to. The whole charm magic thing has been in the back of my mind since I thought about it last night. I think the right approach would be to exude a charming aura directly from my core—something to help me give off the vibe of someone you’d want to approach, to appear more likable.

After all, there isn’t much to say about the products in question—they’re both pretty much self-explanatory. Although I did have the foresight to bring some snacks as well. I had those snack-size bags of chips I like to pack for lunch. It’s a bit early right now, but I figured in a few hours, people will start getting a bit peckish, and what better way to lure them in than with some random bags of chips? At twenty bucks for a box of forty-two, I think I could gouge people a bit at two bucks a bag. If I end up selling them all, that’d be a sixty-four dollar profit right there.

As for the keychains, I figured twenty dollars each, along with fifty dollars for the digital picture frames, should be expensive enough that most people wouldn’t normally buy them. They’re not anything special after all, and they’re certainly not worth that much. So, if I can sell enough, I can be pretty confident it’s the magic working—and not just my charming smile.

The first hour is... slow, to say the least. Plenty of people pass by, but other than a few curious glances and polite nods, I haven’t attracted a single buyer to even talk to me. So far, my charm magic isn’t doing much of anything—or at least, not that I can tell. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t frustrated, but it’s a learning experience, right? You can’t expect to just master something right away. This is all part of the process—at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Finally, as I'm starting to lose hope, an elderly woman approaches the stall. She catches my attention because she isn’t exactly the target demographic for trendy keychains and electronics. But she picks up one of the tablets, squinting at it before asking in a raspy voice, “What’s this?”

I clear my throat. “It’s a digital picture frame,” I say. “You can load it up with photos, and it’ll cycle through them. Perfect for showing off family pictures.”

She nods slowly, clearly not entirely convinced. Here’s where the charm comes in—I focus on her, concentrating on projecting a feeling of warmth and trust. Charm, charm, charm, I repeat in my head, imagining the mana flowing from me to her, subtle and gentle, like a nudge in the right direction.

Suddenly, she smiles. “You know, my daughter might like this,” she says. “How much?”

I try not to show my excitement. “Fifty dollars,” I reply, keeping my voice steady.

Without hesitation, she nods, pulls out her wallet, and hands me a crisp fifty-dollar bill. I see her off with a big, goofy smile as the excitement of my first sale washes over me. I can’t believe it actually worked—that was honest-to-goodness charm magic.

As the morning continues, I experiment with my magic on every person who passes by. Some are more receptive than others, but I start noticing a pattern. When it comes to charming someone, it’s not about using a pushy, overbearing force. It’s about subtlety—a little nudge here, a gentle pull there. It’s as much about drawing them into your smile as it is pushing them away from their disinterest.

It’s a back-and-forth—it’s cyclical—and I keep coming back to that concept, which makes sense. Like many things in life, mana seems to be about give and take, pros and cons. Push too hard, and you can feel the charm break. You have to walk a fine line, slowly reeling them in while giving them enough slack so that the invisible thread you’re using doesn’t snap.

By the afternoon, I’ve sold three tablets, twenty-one bags of chips, seven keychains, and—oddly—a pack of gum. A prospective chip customer I was chatting with happened to lament the fact that he didn’t have any gum. Since I had a pack on me, I offered him a stick, and he asked if he could buy the whole pack. A bit strange, but five dollars for an opened, two-dollar pack of gum sounded good to me. He walked off with that, a bag of Funyuns, and a keychain.

That brings my total sales for the day up to $337—not freaking bad at all. Five hours at the flea market, another two preparing the items yesterday, and drive time—let’s just call it an eight-hour day. That’s already over forty-two dollars an hour!

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 4: Crossroads of Fate

Urban Ascent

The words hang in the air—“Who am I?”—suspended in the stillness that follows. I feel them echo through me, reverberating deeper than ever before. And then, with a surge of clarity, comes the answer: “I am Nathan Stone, and I seek the Truth!” Speaking those words feels like carving them into my very soul. They linger, shaping me in ways I don’t yet fully understand.

Slowly, the room comes back into focus. The candle still burns steadily, the small flame flickering like a reflection of the fire that now smolders within me. I know I’ve crossed a threshold—a line that can’t be uncrossed. The feeling of being at a crossroads still lingers, but now, something is different. I’ve made my choice. Is this what it means to be a cultivator? To be acknowledged by the heavens?

In every story, they describe cultivation as “going against the heavens.” Was this the formation of my Dao heart? In some ways, my own answer actually shocked me. Since when was I someone who sought the Truth? And yet, the words came to my mouth as naturally as breathing. Maybe, deep down, this is something I’ve always wanted—something I never dared believe could be true.

That there’s more to this world than what we can see—that there’s something greater out there. Money, fame, power—none of those worldly pursuits ever appealed to me. After all, I never pushed myself to get a better-paying job, or to find a partner and start a family. The only thing I ever truly wanted was freedom.

But freedom is a catch-22, isn’t it? The reality is that you need money to live, and money means work. Unless you were lucky enough to be born rich, money seems to just make itself when you have enough of it. Maybe that’s what sparked my interest in the stock market, but I learned the hard way that nothing comes easy. No matter how many “strategies” I came up with, the only thing I achieved was a dwindling bank balance.

The largest returns I’ve ever seen were after giving up and putting everything into the S&P 500—boring but reliable advice. Warren Buffet said it, didn’t he? “If I weren’t me, I wouldn’t play the market; I’d just put it all into an ETF.” It’s true enough, but seven percent growth on not much is... well, not much. Certainly not enough to live on. So, I had to keep working—just enough to get by. Forty hours a week, nine to five, no overtime. I’ve saved a little, and I’m doing better than scraping by, but it’s been a quiet life. Too peaceful, maybe.

I let myself get lulled into a sense of normalcy, as if nothing really mattered. It was easier to convince myself that finding inner happiness and keeping occupied was enough. That there was nothing out there that interested me, no magic to stir me to action. But now? The universe has practically dropped magic into my lap.

Can I keep lying to myself? Can I keep wasting away, idling my time, never striving for more? I’ve never cared about money, and it’s still not my sole driving force, but with this power—there’s so much I could do.

I’m not sure how yet, but I have the inkling of a plan. If mana can be projected outside the body to create heat—if my intent shapes it—can’t I focus it into practically anything? Are there really any limits? I could perform superhuman feats. I could clear out gangs and drug dealers, clean up the streets, and make some well deserved money while I’m at it. I’m not there yet, but eventually... I could get there.

Or, what if I could become incredibly persuasive? Imagine how easy it would be to make money if I could exert a magical charm. A modern-day snake oil salesman, but instead of snake oil, I’d be selling harmless trinkets—maybe even imbuing them with mana to make them irresistible to anyone who passed by.

If I could make enough money to quit my job, I’d have even more time to cultivate. And with more time to cultivate, I could get stronger even faster. My potential is practically limitless!

I haven’t been this motivated in a long time. As I glance up at the clock, I realize hardly any time has passed. It’s just now 4:00 PM. So I guess my reality-redefining moment of cultivation only took about half an hour—and it’s Saturday, which means I still have tomorrow off before the workweek starts again.

Sunday would be the perfect chance to set up a stall and try my luck with charm magic. I pretty much have everything I need: a folding table, a spare sheet, and, when I was digging through that footstool earlier, I found all those keyrings I bought during my 3D-printing phase. I even have a bunch of trinkets already printed—popular video game characters and other franchises—enough to test the waters.

Actually, maybe this is a great chance to clear out some junk. I still have those four Android tablets I bought cheap and rooted. They’ve been wiped clean, and I used them for side projects as little mobile Linux machines. The specs are pretty bad, but the displays are decent enough. They’d be perfect for that digital picture frame code I wrote a while back. It shouldn’t take long to flash them with the software.

These tablets were cheap—under forty dollars each—but that was years ago. No one would want them as tablets now, but as picture frames? I could probably get fifty bucks a pop. That’s two hundred dollars if I can sell them all. I’ll just whip up a foldable kickstand design, print it in black to match the tablets, and glue them to the back. It won’t be fancy, but it should look passable—especially with a little magical encouragement.

I spend the next two hours flashing the tablets and printing the kickstands. While they’re printing, I loop keychains onto the trinkets I printed earlier. I even manage to complete another cultivation cycle before the kickstands finish. After gluing them on and leaving the tablets to charge—Growl.

Before I realize it, it’s 6:00 PM, and my stomach kindly reminds me I’ve skipped dinner. With everything in order for tomorrow, I toss some chicken tenderloins in the air fryer and heat up a pouch of microwaveable rice—waiting for a fresh pot isn’t an option for a hungry tummy, especially when the chicken will be done in eighteen minutes.

Halfway through, I give the chicken a flip, and it comes out golden brown—thanks to the miracle that is an air fryer. With a quick toss in the frying pan and a splash of soy sauce, ketchup, and oil—odd as it sounds—it turns out tasting almost like yakisoba. Not bad for a quick meal.

Fourteen years as a bachelor hasn’t been for nothing. I’ve learned to cook pretty well, but I tend to gravitate toward convenience. Easy but tasty recipes with basic ingredients have become second nature.

The meal is filling and satisfying, and I even cooked enough chicken for a second meal. Cook once, eat twice. Nothing better than living off past efforts. With dinner out of the way, I run through another two cultivation cycles before it’s 8:00 PM.

Like I said, I’m not one for overworking myself. So I call it there, and hop into bed, turn on the TV, and start browsing YouTube to relax. Before I know it, I’m fast asleep.

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 3: Ignition Point

Urban Ascent

Rummaging through this footstool—one of those cheap, pressed-wood boxes covered in rough cloth, hollow with a removable lid for storage—I’m searching for that Dollar Store box of “emergency candles” I bought three years ago. In this narrow one-bedroom apartment, with less square footage than a department store bathroom, storage is a premium. So, I’ve become an expert at cramming stuff into every available nook and cranny. Apartment living, right? It usually makes things hard to find, though, since I’m not exactly working with the Dewey Decimal system here.

Ah, here we go—half a candle, rolling around loose among the random debris. Not sure why it’s the last one left—or why it’s snapped in half—but I guess it’ll do. After dragging the coffee table back in front of the couch, I sit down and set the flat side of the candle on one of those “thirsty stone” coasters. Not sure they’re as “thirsty” as advertised, though—seems like the water just pools on top before evaporating. But whatever.

So, how exactly do I go about creating fire? I guess the name of the game here would be to project this mana outside of my body, right? If those cultivation cycles taught me anything, it’s that the further I have to push it out, the harder it gets. Maybe I’ll channel the energy just beyond the tip of my finger, and if I hold it close enough to the candle—it’ll heat up enough to combust. Well, no time like the present, right?

I stretch out my finger until it’s practically touching the top of the candle and begin to concentrate. Just like before with the bottle cap, I imagine forcing the mana to the tip of my finger, but this time, visualize it exiting in the form of heat. As expected, the flow drops by half as it reaches my elbow and halves again at my fingertip—there’s definitely a pattern here. And as if to prove my point, by the time the energy exits my finger, it feels like the flow has halved yet again.

If the energy I sent to my arm was one-hundred “units” of mana—Uhh, I guess I’ll call it Mana Points, or MP for short. I know, I know—but what do you expect from a chronic RPG fan? Anyway, fifty MP makes it to my elbow, twenty-five to my finger, and a dismal twelve-point-five MP actually exits my fingertip. That’s practically a one-to-ten ratio, and I’m guessing there are even more losses when it converts to heat.

Note to self: the novels were right again. Internal arts are a lot easier than external arts, huh? No wonder all the beginner cultivators in those stories focus on the basics of speed and strength. Creating a flame out of nothing probably isn’t going to happen, good thing I decided to just focus on heat then right? The candle has to retain some of the heat I pass to it, right? If I can just feed it heat faster than it loses it, eventually it should get warm enough to combust on its own.

Huh—I guess this still counts as superhuman, but my power being worse than a Zippo lighter is still disappointing. Whatever—everyone has to start somewhere. Is the candle even getting warm? I gently poke it, half-expecting it to be warm, but... I’m not sure I’m feeling much. Maybe it’s warmer—but—not by a significant amount. Sure wish I had a temperature gun right about now. Not actually leave the house and go buy one—wish—but still.

Wait, how dumb can I be? It’s not like I only have one finger, right? I’m already sending mana down my whole arm—so why limit myself? Actually, who says I even need to use my fingers? It only halves once it reaches my fingers. I could just release the energy directly from my palm. That would be more efficient—50 MP straight from my hand—but it wouldn’t necessarily produce more energy.

But, it’s a trade-off: 100 MP for 50 output from my hand at 50% efficiency, or 500 MP—100 for each finger—for 125 output, but at a miserable 25% efficiency.

But now the question is—is it worth being two and a half times hotter at the cost of five times the mana? In this case, I’m not sure it is. I don’t need a big blast of energy all at once; I just need to build it up faster than it can be lost. Why burn twice the gas to go the same distance if time isn't a factor? I think slow and steady wins the race here. To begin with, I don’t have much “gas” in the first place, so it’s not exactly the time to be wasteful.

Reaching back out to the candle, I sort of cup my hand around it, almost as if I’m shielding an imaginary flame from the wind. There’s something incredibly primal about tending to fire. Just like my countless ancestors, I slowly tend to this soon to be flame, this source of heat—my light in the darkness. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic—I do have a lamp in the corner of my room—but sometimes it’s important to set the mood.

That extra twenty-five percent is really making a difference this time—I can practically feel the heat building up on the candle. Reassured, I double my concentration, focusing with all my might. I try to heighten my imagination to its fullest potential. What is heat? And what am I trying to do with it? Warmth isn’t enough—I’m not seeking comfort. I’m seeking power! The power to burn, the power to destroy. Hotter—it has to get even hotter. Like the combustion of flammable gas exposed to a spark, like the fusion of hydrogen fueling the sun. The kind of heat that grows into an unwavering inferno—a recursive function feeding into itself, a destructive cycle. Fire begets fire. One flame becomes two. Two becomes three. And from three—comes the destruction of everything!

The true nature of Yang itself—destruction, light, heat, and fire—the embodiment of man’s willpower, his drive to impose order, and his capacity to break down whatever stands before him. Yang is relentless, consuming everything in its path, forging power from chaos. As I focus on this intent, I feel the fire within me flicker and grow. This is no longer just about lighting a candle—it’s about tapping into something far deeper, a force that connects me to the very fabric of existence.

My palm feels as though it could ignite the very air. My breath quickens as I imagine the power coursing through my veins—acting as an extension of the universe’s boundless energy, an inferno ready to be unleashed. And then, without thinking, I do it. I scream at the candle before me.

“Burn!”

To my shock, it does.

Perhaps with a bit too much power—it’s hot! I quickly yank my hand back as I feel the flame lick against my palm. Not burned, but definitely startled, I lose track of time, staring blankly at the flame as it dances atop the candle. My eyes are wider than they’ve ever been—both literally and metaphorically. It feels as though, for the first time, I’ve caught a glimpse of truth. Even though my heart pounds in my chest, a strange serenity washes over me, the kind of stillness that only comes in moments of profound enlightenment.

I know, even now, that this single moment will be etched deeply into my mind. Though I’m living it right now, it already feels like something I’ll look back on with nostalgia and wonder. It’s the oddest sensation of disembodiment—like an even more intense sense of déjà vu. Past, present, and future seem to blur together, distilling into this singular experience. In that moment, I almost forget who I am—my entire sense of self nearly dissolves into the flame.

“Who am I?” The words escape my lips, though I don’t even remember saying them—it doesn’t feel like I’m in my own body anymore. I can practically see myself sitting there, as if my soul has left me, hovering just above, watching from a distance.

Suddenly, a sense of urgency floods through me. I realize this is a pivotal moment—a crossroads. If I don’t answer now, I’ll lose everything. It’s as if the very heavens themselves are holding me at gunpoint, demanding an answer to this one question.

I steel myself, feeling a surge of resolve—perhaps the strongest I’ve ever felt. The words gather at the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out as I—

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

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Chapter 2: First Sparks

Urban Ascent

It’s strange. I’m not sure if it’s just the excitement from beating that time I set or if that minor cycle with my head somehow improved my mood, but I feel refreshed and strangely motivated all of a sudden—which isn’t really like me at all. I guess I might as well make the most of it, I wasn’t sure before, but besides using some mana up in these circulations, it’s definitely coming back thicker now. It’s not a huge difference, but especially on that last cycle with my head, I could really feel the difference as it flowed back into my core.

I remember reading something like this in those novels. I think the energy is being refined into a higher form—for each level of cultivation there seems to be three minor realms; Beginning, Middle, and Peak. So it makes sense that within these minor realms, there would be minor steps in between those as well.

Lost in thought, continue to cultivate, and before I know it—I’ve already completed three major cycles. With six minor cycles each, that makes eighteen. Huh, the number three again, did I stop at three subconsciously? Just like how each major realm is divided into three minor realms. Even the six minor cycles I perform for each Major cycle, is divisible by three as well. Why does the number three feel so significant? What did that one novel say? From one begets two, from two begets three, and from three begets everything.

I guess it’s an attempt to explain the creation of the world, right? In the beginning, there was nothing—or rather, just one thing. Some primordial force, whatever it may have been, that eventually split into yin and yang. Yin representing creation, Yang representing destruction—the two forming the original cyclical nature of our world. Life and Death, Light and Darkness. And from that came Humanity.

This trinity—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—became the foundation of existence. Heaven ruled the skies and the immaterial; Earth, the solid ground and the tangible. Between them, Humanity emerged—a bridge between the immaterial and the material, destined to seek balance and understanding, what we now call the Dao—or The Way of Cultivation.

At least, that’s how all the novels seem to go.

Well, after three cycles I should finally have refined enough mana to do something right? It’s hard not to start believing after what I felt during meditation, but without some concrete real world result, I’m still a bit skeptical—that’s just human nature though I guess. I need to use some of this mana—I need to do something with it, but what?

Keep it simple I guess, right? I’ll just pick something up. I’ve got some dumbbells lying around here. Lifting 20 pounds isn’t exactly superhuman, but at least I know how “heavy” they are without using mana. So they should feel lighter if I can tap into it, right? But, how exactly do I do that? I mean I circulated the mana throughout my arm, but that was more like pushing it to the tips of my finger and letting it gradually blow back on its own.

To use it, maybeI have to hold it there. If I close my eyes, I can feel the mana swirling inside my core, almost like it’s performing some kind of cycle of its own while it’s at rest. There is still some “unrefined” mana there as well, but it feels different—seperate I guess? It feels less pliable, more difficult to control than the stuff I did refine. Well, since this is my first try, it makes sense to go the path of least resistance right? I can always try using this unrefined mana later, but for now, let’s just keep it simple.

Focusing on the refined mana, I imagine using my core to slowly start pumping it into my left arm—but this time, with the intent to use it for something. For what? Strength of course—like feeding fuel to a fire, I imagine the “engine” that is my arm revving up, my arm starts to tingle, like it’s waking up.

As I lift the dumbbell, it’s not exactly light, I can definitely still tell that it’s heavy. It still takes effort to move but it does seem a bit lighter—if only slightly. It’s hard to tell, though. I mean if someone handed you two twenty pound dumbbells, and one that was half an ounce lighter, would you be able to tell the difference? Probably not, hell most weights are already like that anyway aren't there? It’s not as though they’re precise scientific instruments, carefully checked and balanced to the last gram. This isn’t working, I think I need to start smaller, with something I couldn’t normally do.

I’m getting thirsty, I guess sweating your ass off for an hour and a half would tend to do that huh? What do I have that’s nice and cold in the fridge? After purising my sparsely filled fridge, my eyes can’t help but be drawn to the final ice cold beer sitting all alone in a six pack. It’s exactly the most workout friendly beverage, but I wasn’t exactly working out either was I? Sure I was sweating, but it was just meditation after all. Besides, how cruel would it be to leave the sole survivor behind to suffer in solitude—I should put the poor thing out of its misery—lol pour thing, get it?

Wait where do I leave the bottle opener? Drunk me is so inconsiderate, never putting things back where he found them. Wait, something I couldn't do normally, God knows how many random objects I’ve used to open one of these, but the point is—I always use an object. It’s not like I could just pop the top off with a flick of my thumb... but what if I could?

My thumb needs to be firmer, so the cap doesn't dig into it—and I need more explosive power to knock the cap off in one go, instead of a gradual push. As I slowly focus the mana into just my hand and thumb, allowing the remaining mana in my arm to gradually flow back into my core—I imagine it reinforcing the flesh of my thumb, making it tougher, and more resilient. And with the energy in my hand, I slowly compress it, like a spring, before finally realizing the build up power

Pop.

My heart starts racing, as my eyes widen in shock—it’s real—this isn’t just my imagination, as I shakily set the beer down on the counter, my thirst long since forgotten, I start to examine my thumb—but there isn’t a mark anywhere to be found. Holy shit, I just sent that cap flying all the way across the room—with these keyboard mittens that look so soft, you wouldn't believe they had picked up anything in weeks.

Okay, okay—calm down—deep breaths. That wasn’t strictly speaking “impossible” to do right, I mean there are probably plenty of people who could have done that without any sort of “mana”. Hell I saw on YouTube a 60 something year old comedian shock the crowd by ripping an apple in half—one rabble hole later, and it turns out it’s all just technique, just like with ripping phone books.

Maybe I’m just really great at opening beer? I mean, I have had a lot of practice—okay weird thing to suddenly brag about—I need to remember never to say something that pathetic out loud. I mean I never seriously tried to do that before, who’s to say I couldn’t right? I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get some actual proof. But how much longer would I have to meditate before I could do something truly superhuman—superhuman huh, like a mutant? Wait—maybe I’m thinking about this the wrong way.There are different kinds of “superhuman” right, increases in strength might be hard to measure, especially when it’s such a small increase, but what if I tried another kind of power—something a normal human could never do. Fire. Even if it’s smaller than a birthday candle, If I’m able to create a flame, hell I’d settle for enough heat to scorch some paper, if I could do that, that would be absolute proof.

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whiskerinthestars · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 1: Awakening the Mundane

Urban Ascent

Have you ever woken up and realized you’ve gotten old before you even had the chance to notice? When I was younger, I always thought I’d make something of myself—that my life would be different. Eventually.

But eventually never came. Now here I am—32 years old—sitting in a cubicle I’ve long outgrown, staring at a screen that never seems to change. Just like my life. Another day, another meaningless spreadsheet destined to vanish into the void of this company’s forgotten servers—along with the rest of my "contributions." Funny how quickly you can become invisible without even realizing it.

It’s not like my personal life is any better. Just like my career, relationships always felt like a chore, something I kept putting off. And unlike the perpetually growing pile of laundry in the bathroom—constantly reminding me to buy more shirts—there’s no visual reminder of just how much time I’ve let slip through my fingers.

But life has a way of catching up with you, doesn’t it? Sometimes, the most unexpected thing can shake you awake. For me, it wasn’t a new job or some life-altering decision. It was a web novel.

This probably won’t shock anyone, but I spend a lot of time consuming media—books, manga, TV shows, movies—anything to keep me distracted from thinking too hard about where my life’s at. Or, more accurately, where it isn’t.

Lately, I’ve gotten hooked on Chinese cultivation web novels. And, of course, I did what I always do—hyper-fixated on the concept. One story, in particular, really grabbed me. It was about this 18-year-old college kid who, after being randomly added to some chat group, stumbles into the world of cultivation.

Naturally, he thought it was just a role-playing chat—people pretending cultivation was real. I mean, come on. Anyone with a brain knows that stuff’s pure fantasy, right? If it were real, there’d be proof online by now. After all, everyone’s glued to their phones 24/7—you’d at least expect a few videos to trend.

But you know how it goes. Sometimes that little voice in the back of your head whispers, But what if it is real? Sure, it’s probably not. But you’re alone, no one’s watching, and hey—you already enjoy the novels, so why not indulge in a little meditation and play along? So, that’s exactly what he did.

And that’s exactly what I did.

This has to be one of the most meta realizations I’ve ever had—a realization based on a character in a novel having a realization. So, partly out of boredom and partly out of a deep, hidden desire for it to be real, I talked myself into meditating.

But here’s the thing—these novels never really explain how to "circulate your chi," or whatever. So I guess I’m just winging it. After awkwardly shoving the coffee table a few feet into the kitchen, I plopped down in the “criss-cross applesauce” position—something I hadn’t done since, well, who knows when.

I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, but all I can think about is how much my ass hurts from sitting on this cheap, ten-year-old carpet. Sigh. I should’ve just stayed on the couch. Whatever. Let’s see if I can just zone out and “feel” the chi—actually—mana in the air. It’s not like it matters what I call it. It’s not like it’s real anyway.

What exactly does mana feel like? Is it the air on my skin? Should I be sensing some hidden current? It’s always described as being connected to breathing, so I guess it’s like air, right? But if your "Dantian"—no, let’s just call it your Core—if that isn’t real in a physical sense, then it’s not really about breathing, is it? It’s more about the concept behind it. The Intent.

Whoa... why did that just give me chills?

To breathe without breathing. The idea of it, the framework. Absorption? No—more like intake? Gather. That’s it. It’s the Intent to Gather. This energy around me. This Mana. It’s about willpower, I’m contending with reality, trying to reshape it, no matter how small, into something different then it already is.

The air feels thick—rich. Is this mana? It moves in a steady, cyclical flow, drawing power inward with each breath, then exhaling... weakness? It’s almost like I’m being cleansed, impurities forced out of my body, the way CO2 is exhaled to make room for oxygen. Is this what it feels like for my core to finally get the energy it’s been craving, after holding its breath for so long?

It feels so natural, yet foreign. How could something as fundamental to life as breathing be something you have to learn? Have I ever really been breathing until now? Focus. I can’t get distracted—there’s something I’m supposed to do with this mana, right? I’m supposed to circulate it.

But where? Into my lungs and out to my limbs? Aren’t you supposed to use this mana to refine your entire body? So how does it reach all the organs? Wait... didn’t they talk about minor and major cycles in those novels?

Maybe the “minor cycle” means focusing on each part of the body separately, and the “major cycle” is when you’ve completed them all. Limbs, torso, head—starting from the core, let it flow throughout my entire torso. It feels warm—the kind of heat you feel after working out—but just where I’ve circulated the mana so far. Wait, is it moving back on its own? Huh, it is—slowly, just like the tide. The “water” I’ve sent away steadily flows back, building up momentum before finally crashing into my core.

But it feels different somehow. Is some of it missing? I guess it makes sense that this “circulation” would use some up. TINSTAFL—right? There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Obviously, if I’m using mana to temper my body, I can’t expect not to use any of it. Still, though, isn’t it thicker too? It’s almost imperceptible—not quite like the difference between honey and water—but it is different, right?

Well, I guess next I’ll do the left arm—call me biased, I am a lefty after all. Slow exhale. I slowly push the mana into my arm—very slowly. It almost feels like something is in the way. It wasn’t exactly easy pushing the mana around my torso, but it definitely wasn’t as tough as this. Is it because my arm is smaller than my torso, or maybe just because it’s farther away from my core? It’s barely made it down to my elbow, and it feels like it’s gotten twice as hard again.

Am I doing something wrong? It doesn’t hurt, at least. I guess I just have to be patient. Seriously patient. It only took a minute to circulate the energy throughout my torso, but it took me three just to get it through one arm—and the farther away I got, the harder it was. I thought it was difficult getting the energy past my elbow, but once I got to my hand, it felt like I was squeezing toothpaste into each of my fingers.

Fuck, I’m already sweating and out of breath, like I just ran up three flights of stairs. Lol—or maybe two actually. I’m not exactly in fighting shape, am I? After sitting around all day at work, only to come home and sit around some more, I have all the stamina of a man twice my age. Actually—how old is that energetic old neighbor of mine? He’s always going for walks with his dog first thing in the morning while I’m half-awake, dragging myself into my truck to drive to work. He could probably make it up three flights of stairs faster than I could. Sigh. I need to get back into shape.

I guess I should be thankful I’m here all alone. Imagine trying to explain to someone why you’re out of breath from meditating. Just thinking about how embarrassing that would be is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat—if I weren’t already sweating. Alright, enough feeling sorry for myself. My life has been so sedentary these past few years, I could put my cat to shame—at least he gets up to stretch.

I might as well do the right arm next. That’s my mouse arm, after all. The righties of the world might not understand, but us lefties end up using our right hand for a lot of things you wouldn’t expect. I’m old enough to remember when corded mice in the computer lab made it just about impossible to use them with your left hand. I continue thinking about unnecessary things as I imagine the mana being pumped from my core out to my fingers.

Slowly but surely, I finish the next minor cycle, accompanied by another round of sweating, as I try to get my breathing back under control and gather enough mana for the next cycle. Eventually, I completed them all—with just the head left to do.

3:26 PM—I started almost exactly at three, so that means between each cycle and the breaks I’ve been taking, it’s taken me nearly half an hour, and I’m not even done yet. Talk about pathetic. There’s no way I’m going to take more than 30 minutes to complete this. You have to draw an imaginary line in the sand somewhere. I might have let myself go, but that doesn’t mean I’ve thrown away my pride. One minute on the torso, followed by a one-minute break. Three minutes on each limb, followed by three-minute breaks. I have four minutes left before my sudden self-imposed deadline.

Slap. Slap. The sound of me slapping my thighs to psych myself up practically reverberates through my nearly silent apartment. Okay, focus. Deep exhale. With my eyes closed, I hear the minute hand on the clock strike 3:27, and just like before, I imagine my core pumping out mana, this time directing it upwards into my head. Even in my rush, it’s hard not to notice how insanely weird this feels. Before, I said it felt similar to when you're working out—your body heats up—or rather the specific body part I was focusing on did. Sure, my head’s gotten hot before, but I can’t say I ever remember the feeling of it “straining itself.”

You might do squats with your legs or curl a dumbbell with your arms—but it’s not as though I ever did neck lifts or something, right? It’s almost impossible to describe this bizarre sensation of your head (muscles?) exerting themselves. Nonetheless, slowly but surely, I circulate the mana throughout my head, just like I did with my other extremities. Oddly, it’s not even as difficult as my arms. It’s actually quite easy, but at the same time, it’s taking much longer than it did with my torso.

Do I actually have quite a long neck or something? Lol, as if. Maybe there’s just a lot of empty space in my head it has to fill. But eventually, and seemingly without much effort, this cycle is completed too. As I glance up at the clock—3:29 PM—I can’t help but feel a little proud. Setting everything else aside, I set a goal and achieved it. Not bad for something I was making up on the fly, right?

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