The infinity dungeon 221

Chapter 221

There were two plush cushions on opposite sides of a wooden Go board. Two pouches lay on the ground next to where Master Yu took his seat.

Seeing that Michael was still regarding the scene, the master smiled and motioned for him to sit. Michael did so, shooting one last look at the mountains and glaciers all around before sitting down. A blizzard blew a few feet away from him, snow and hail pelting the mountain peak, but a wall of wind and debris did not reach close to them or the game board, kept away by Yu’s Qi.

"This is a game of stones, disciple, but it speaks of life itself. Of brothers in cells, of nations at war, of partners in commerce, and of the very pulse of nature. Your choices and mine, they will weave a tapestry of many outcomes."

Michael listened to the old master speak. Yu’s eyes twinkled, their crystal blue mirroring the ice looming all around.

“Tell me, disciple, why do you wish to rule?”

Michael was taken aback by the question. “Why do you think I want to rule?”

“I saw it, as it was written in your soul. Yet you are conflicted. It is a good thing, to not accept the burden of power blindly, but one that must be overcome eventually. I will ask again: why do you wish to rule?”

“I want to save my world,” Michael said.

“From what evil do you wish to save it?” asked the old master.

“From the dungeon, from magic… from itself.”

“To be a ruler such as that, one must think himself superior. The only one capable of delivering his world from danger.”

Michael paused. “Someone has to do it. There are people much worse than me out there.”

Master Yu raised an eyebrow. “And yet, you believe that there are many who are much better, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Despite your doubts, you still wish to rule,” Yu said.

“Yes.”

“Then you must become better than them. Let me explain the rules of the game. I will lay a stone first, black or white. You will then respond with one of your own."

He placed two stones on the game board as he spoke.

“Observe the harvest,” he said. “If we both lay a Black Stone, we choose the path of the lone wolf, of the snitch, of the confrontational spirit. We each gain one gold coin. A meager reward for distrust, which breeds only scarcity.”

With a wave of his hand, he reset the board. The gold coin, which had glowed with more than just mundane luster, also vanished. Behind, however, it left a distinct smell of potent Qi. It made Michael salivate at the thought of having it for himself.

Master Yu continued. “If we both lay a White Stone, we choose the path of shared purpose, of silence between brothers, of the cooperative heart. We each gain three gold coins.” He placed three coins on a stone beside the game board. Michael’s eyes were drawn to them, then back to Master Yu’s face. “Honor, when mirrored, enriches all.”

The stones and coins vanished. Master Yu smiled a sinister smile. "But if I lay a White Stone, choosing to be trusting, honorable, and you, disciple Michael, lay a Black Stone, choosing to betray that trust, to seek individual gain, you will receive five gold coins. A sweet victory, perhaps but I, in my misplaced trust, will gain nothing."

The coins vanished once again. The smile turned evil. “And the inverse holds true,” said the Master. “Should I lay a Black Stone to seize advantage, and you respond with a White Stone in misguided honor, I gain five coins, and you gain nothing. Such is the bitter taste of exploitation.”

“Is this the game?” Michael asked.

“The game and the goal, young disciple, are simple. Amass as much gold as you can over many rounds. The river of time flows a long way in this game. It is a game of generations, of nations and empires. It is a game called Dao of Interwoven Fates. If you win, the Dao will be yours. Not given, but grown in your heart. You will see.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. How hard could the game be, he wondered? The rules were fairly simple, after all, and the fact that the game was turn-based meant that there had to be an optimal strategy.

Then he paused. He wondered why Icarus had been silent all this time, and looking inwards he found the AI’s planet orbiting the black hole as usual. Icarus was watching intently, but refused to share his insights. Had the Master spoken with him, perhaps?

They played the first round. Master Yu opened with a white stone; Michael responded with a black one. Five coins appeared neatly stacked beside him.

Michael smiled.

Master Yu smiled back. “Do not be hasty in your judgment, young disciple. This river flows many rounds. Watch closely, for the universe will reveal its truths through repetition, and the ears of the wise listen for its echoes.”

The next round played out much like the first. Michael’s stack of coins grew to ten.

In the third round, however, Master Yu played a black stone. Michael responded in kind, for it made no sense to play white against black. Except, from then on, all he could get was a single gold coin in each round.

Then the game ended.

“I won,” said Michael.

“And who says you did?” Master Yu asked calmly.

“I have more coins than you do.”

“Indeed you do. However, never did I say that the one with the most coins wins.”

Michael paused, confused. “You said that the objective is to amass as many coins as I can. I did.”

“Did you?” asked the master.

Michael was about to speak, but the master interrupted him.

“Do you think that winning five coins twice, and then a single coin per round, is the best possible outcome?”

He looked to the distance, where a faint ray of sun shone through the clouds. “The Folly of the First Betrayal,” he said. “The wolf that bites too often soon finds itself alone. A single stolen victory can poison the well for all future harvests.”

He got up, staring at the deep chasm between the glaciers. “There were once two mighty dragons, building mountains of fire. For ages they postured, never trusting each other. They trusted that their fire would keep them safe, and that it was stronger than the other’s fire.”

He sighed. “Had they chosen to weave their fates in cooperation, dear disciple, the sky would be filled with golden clouds. Instead, this is it.” Glaciers and lone mountain peaks showed through the hailstorm for a moment, then disappeared again. “Shadowed fear of wasted might. Confrontation often yields less than cooperation. Yet, the fear of betrayal holds us back.”

As he sat back down, Master Yu set the game board again. They did not play, however, instead retreating to a hut in the mountains for the night. There was a guest room for Michael there, and a meal waiting for him.

They did not play again the next day, nor the day after that. Michael was instructed on proper meditation, training for the body and the mind, proper martial art forms, and many things he thought useless at first.

Over the course of months, he began to understand that they were not useless. During the nights, Michael remained awake to work on a massive project inside his inner space together with Icarus. The AI did not reveal itself in the presence of the old master, but had no problems helping Michael figure out a way to generate an aura and protect himself.

A year passed like that, until finally Master Yu brought Michael to the peak, where the game board was already prepared.

“There was a tournament of spirits,” the old man said, “it was fought over the ashes of the dead dragons, and it lasted millennia. Three spirits are remembered still to this day.”

“Who are they?” Michael asked. Over the months he had learned that he could greatly reduce Master Yu’s dramatic pauses by asking questions.

“The first, Tie Xin, which means "Iron Heart" or "Unfeeling," was quick to hold a grudge.” He set a white stone on the game board. Michael did not play his stone, remembering what had happened last time they played. Yu smiled. “He would begin with trust, but after a single betrayal his well would run dry and stay dry forever. His harvest was often lean, like yours and mine were last time we played.”

Michael nodded.

“Another spirit was Yin Hu, which means "Cunning Fox." He was of sneaky, unpredictable nature, often cooperative but always ready for a random, opportunistic betrayal.”

He played a white, then responded to himself with a white. Playing again, he kept it up for a while until he randomly countered a white with a black. Soon, blacks were being played more often than whites. “It was a fox among sheep, but even the fox if too clever, starves, for its victims learn to scatter.”

Yu studied Michael carefully before speaking again. “Then the third. It was the humblest spirit, Dao Zhi Ying, the Response of the Dao. As its name suggests, this spirit was the manifestation of the natural, balanced, and benevolent responsiveness of the universe's underlying principles. Despite its meek appearance, it often emerged the victor. It began with a white stone, a gesture of trust. And thereafter, it simply mirrored its opponent's last move. If you honor me, I honor you. If you strike I return the blow, but only once, and then I await your next move.”

“Did it win because it was tough and vindictive?” Michael asked.

“No, young disciple. He won because Dao Zhi Ying mastered the art of cooperation without being a fool. He was firm in consequence but always ready to return to the path of shared prosperity.”

He walked away, leaving the game board with random scattered stones on it behind. Beside it, a stack of gold coins lay unguarded, but Michael did not take it.

Their steps brought them to a cave beneath the ice. Unlike the ice tunnels of the Misty Valley, it was huge. Thick glowing veins of pure ice element coursed through the ice of the walls, lighting the whole space.

There was an altar at the center, Qi so thick it was almost solid swirling around it. Four pillars of gold stood at the four sides of the altar, inscribed with characters in a language Michael did not understand.

“Observe, young disciple, the Four Pillars that uphold the cultivation of the Dao of Interwoven Fates. If you seek to master this path, you must first master the pillars. You will return to this room often, of that I am sure.”

Master Yu walked to the first pillar.

“This is The First Embrace,” he said. "Offer the first white stone, disciple Michael. Begin with trust, for trust is like the spring rain, nourishing the soil of all future harvests. Without it, the seeds of prosperity wither."

He moved to the second pillar. “The Swift Rebuke. If struck, return the blow, but not with lingering hatred. Like a river meeting a stone, divert its path with immediate consequence, for lessons unlearned are repeated wounds upon the spirit. To ignore a harm is to invite further imbalance."

The third pillar was a fair distance away. “The Open Hand. After returning the blow, quickly extend the hand of peace again. Do not clutch at the shadow of past wrongs. The unforgiving spirit of Tie Xin binds one to a barren existence. Your pride may swell from holding a grudge, but your inner harmony will suffer, and the harvest diminish."

Finally, they reached the last pillar. “The Clear Mirror. Let your intentions be as clear as the purest mountain spring. For when one’s path is shrouded in complexity, trust cannot take root, and how can one dance in harmony with a partner whose steps are unknowable?”

Michael turned towards the altar, expecting the master to go there. Instead, he suddenly found himself back on the mountain peak, sitting on a cushion. The Go board was empty.

“There are games that are called Games of the Hungry Ghost,” Master Yu said, “those are games where one’s triumph is another’s bitter loss. They teach a lesson, but it is often the wrong lesson. It is not a complete Dao. Their constrained rules force you on a narrow path, while most of life is like vast fertile lands.”

The storm that had reigned over the mountain peak for more than a year vanished. Sun shone over verdant prairies and flowing rivers below.

“Life is a dance, a grand harmony. True abundance is not seized from another's store, but cultivated through shared effort. You do not enrich your clan by despoiling your neighbor's fields, but by working together to ensure a bountiful harvest for all.”

Michael rose, walking to stand a few paces behind the master. Then a strange movement down below caught his eye. A shadow was passing over the sun-kissed land.

“There are shadowy figures in the world, disciple.” Master Yu said. “The Hei Jia, who twist the Dao of Interwoven Fates for their own ends. These architects of discord play a two-faced game. They cultivate 'Honor to the Inside', but they practice 'Dishonor to the Outside'. They seek to help each other, while sowing division among the common folk, weakening their spirit.”

Armies appeared on the fields below, fighting each other. Countless soldiers died in the blink of an eye.

“They seek to maintain the Mandate of Heaven through conflict. A great conflict, disciple, can produce three generations of controllable subjects. Emperors, blinded by ambition or misled by counsel, will send legions to the slaughter believing they uphold the Mandate. In truth, they weaken it by fracturing the bonds of their people. The returning warriors, broken and their hearts full of demons, will not easily trust or cooperate. They are divided and conquered, forced into the unforgiving strategy of Tie Xin.”

They retreated back to the hut. Michael had trouble sleeping, thinking about the lessons imparted to him. In the end, he returned to the familiarity of his inner space, where a gigantic ring of metal was slowly being built night after night around the main base. The resources from the Misty Valley had long been all used, but Michael could convert raw mana into whatever he wanted at great price–a minor problem with how rich in magic the sixth floor was.

Three months later, Master Yu invited Michael to play the game again.

“Why have I lost, master?” Michael asked after they were done. “I played like you taught me.”

Master Yu laughed. “You begin to walk the path. You learned not to follow the Hei Jia’s drum of war, to not seek division but connection. Yet, it is not enough. I will not pretend to preach about selflessness and sacrifice, about not playing for one’s gain but for the betterment of the world. I know you are not ready to listen. Instead, I will teach you a trick.”

He got up, staring at a beam of sunlight peeking through the clouds.

“The Dao Zhi Ying has an enlightened cousin, the Kuan Hong Zhi Ying. This spirit offers grace. If wronged a hundred times, it will be ten parts more forgiving than it is necessary. The lesson the spirit has to teach is one where you offer mercy even when not entirely deserved, for true prosperity blossoms from abundant cooperation, not from a ledger of grudges. It builds resilience, like a bamboo grove bending with the wind, rather than breaking. The trick will work whether you believe in it or not, although true Dao understanding will not come from tricks.”

They played again.

“You win,” Master Yu said. “Oh. Do not make such a face. You glimpsed at the Dao of Interwoven Fates, disciple, which is a victory you earned for yourself. Be glad, and remember this. We must forge our own circles. Not for exploitation, but for shared purpose, protection and common flourishing. Even in grim times. Do not engage in games where the sum of what is gained and what is lost is zero. Remember, honor is the ever-expanding spring of Dao, which never runs dry. One can drink of it deeply, and there will still be water for someone else.”

Golden coins clinked on the ground, materialized out of thin air. Master Yu motioned for Michael to take them, and for the first time Michael did. They vanished, only to reappear inside his inner space, floating. Unaffected by the black hole’s gravity.

“I must leave now, disciple, to go and find another disciple. You have learned much, and I am proud of you. The Room of Four Pillars will remain open to you. Meditate there when you feel ready to take another step on the path of the Dao that has been imparted upon you.”

The old man started to fade. Michael bowed to him.

“Farewell, disciple. Weave your own destiny, and the destinies of those around you, with this new wisdom. Let your choices be like the white stones of cooperation, bringing forth a bountiful harvest.”

“Farewell, master,” Michael said.

Then he was alone.