—Where Ancient Wisdom Meets Modern Destiny
Shawn could barely remember falling asleep.
Exhaustion from the day before had overwhelmed him the moment his head hit the pillow. Fear, running, and an avalanche of unfamiliar truths had drained him completely. His body had simply given in.
Now, as he stirred awake, the air felt cool, tinged with the deep blue stillness of pre-dawn.
Silence blanketed the room, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He sat up, rubbing his face as flashes of yesterday surged back—
William. Dan.
The O.S.S.
The Wind Core.
The Wyrm Guardians.
And the Thunder Core, pulsing faintly against his chest.
His fingers instinctively brushed over it. Still there.
But why did the O.S.S. want it so badly?
And who exactly were the Wyrm Guardians? How did they even know about the hidden chamber behind Laozi Palace?
His thoughts swirled, questions piling on top of questions.
With a long exhale, he turned toward the small wooden door. Pale strands of light leaked through the cracks.
Might as well get some air.
He stood, stretched, and stepped into the courtyard.
A hush hung in the air.
Ancient trees towered above, their twisted limbs like calligraphy against the brightening sky.
Leaves whispered in the early breeze.
Stone paths, worn smooth by time and footsteps, glistened with dew.
Lanterns—left burning through the night—flickered with a soft, enduring glow.
And then, in the misty half-light of dawn, Shawn saw him.
An elderly man, dressed entirely in white—flowing robes and loose trousers—sat beneath a tree in perfect stillness. His long white beard draped over his chest, and his snow-white hair was tied back in a simple knot. Despite his age, he radiated vitality.
He wasn't just sitting.
He was meditating.
Shawn instinctively stepped back, not wanting to disturb the silence.
"Since you're already awake," the man said without opening his eyes, "come join me."
The voice was calm—firm yet unhurried. It left no room for refusal.
Shawn hesitated… then stepped forward.
As he approached, the elder moved.
He raised his arms in a slow, circular motion, then brought his hands together in front of his abdomen. Every movement was precise, flowing like water, perfectly in sync with his breath — as if mirroring a rhythm older than time.
Then his eyes opened.
"You're Shawn," he said—not as a question, but a fact.
"I know what happened yesterday." The elder's gaze dropped briefly to Shawn's chest, as though he could see the artifact beneath his shirt.
Shawn's fingers twitched toward the Thunder Core. "How do you—"
Unease coiled in Shawn's gut.
"Which also means," the elder continued gently, "you don't yet possess the natural bond required to truly command its power."
Shawn exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders. "So... what do I do?"
The elder gave a faint smile.
"You must earn the strength to wield it. True power isn't about possession—it's about perception. What you lack is inner mastery. Without that, the Core will remain dormant in your hands."
Shawn frowned. "So, I need training?"
"More than that," the elder replied. "You need Meta Kung Fu—a discipline older than the Elemental Cores themselves."
The name struck a chord in Shawn. He'd never heard it before... yet somehow, it felt familiar, like a memory just out of reach.
"Meta Kung Fu," the elder went on, "refines your Soul Energy. Only through that refinement can the Core resonate with you. And only then can you protect not just yourself—but those around you."
A flicker of hope sparked inside him.
Could this be the answer?
The elder's eyes softened, as if reading his thoughts.
"I'll be here for a while. If you're ready, I can teach you the basics."
Shawn didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward, clenched his fists, and bowed deeply.
"Please teach me."
The elder pressed his palms together before his chest—a graceful, balanced gesture.
"From now on," he said, "use this to greet others. It symbolizes harmony and unity."
Shawn mirrored the motion. As his hands came together, an unexpected calm washed over him—subtle, but real.
"Good," the elder said warmly.
Shawn opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could speak, a young Taoist in deep-blue robes approached swiftly.
"Mr. Ranzi, the lecture begins at eight."
Ranzi nodded and turned to Shawn.
"Head down the path. You'll find a meal hall where you can take breakfast. If time allows, I recommend attending the lecture."
Shawn paused. "What's the topic?"
Ranzi's eyes glinted.
"The Origins of Change."
The hall was packed.
Shawn had never seen so many people gathered in one place inside a Daoist sanctuary.
Taoist priests, scholars, travelers—even foreigners—sat cross-legged on woven mats, murmuring softly as they waited.
At the front, beneath a golden tapestry depicting Laozi, stood Ranzi.
Shawn held his breath.
He had assumed Mr. Ranzi was merely a priest, or perhaps a martial arts teacher—nothing more.
But as hushed voices swelled with anticipation, a realization struck him:
Ranzi wasn't just a priest.
He was a master.
A master of the I Ching.
That truth became undeniable the moment the lecture began.
The lights dimmed, and a screen behind Ranzi lit up with a soft glow. His voice carried effortlessly across the hall.
"In the earliest days," he began, "people believed in a subtle instinct—a resonance with the cosmos, one that guided their understanding of the world."
He clicked to the next slide. A faded, hand-drawn diagram appeared.
"Legend says Fuxi opened the heavens with a single stroke, laying the foundation for the first study of transformation—the Meta-I Ching."
He paused, letting the words settle in the silence.
"This ancient system evolved: from Guicang, beginning with Earth; to Lianshan, starting with Mountain; and finally to Zhouyi—the version most know today as the I Ching."
Shawn's mind sparked.
Meta-I Ching.
He had seen those words not long ago—on the cover of an old book his grandfather once studied: Meta-I Ching Research.
That couldn't be a coincidence.
Ranzi clicked again. Two symbols appeared on the screen: a circle, and a V shape.
"In the beginning, the symbols for Yang and Yin were not lines.
The circle represented the sun—Yang, radiant and active.
The V symbolized the moon—Yin, receptive and subtle.
It was only later that these became the solid (—) and broken (––) lines we know today."
Shawn stiffened.
The circle and V—he had seen them before.
They were etched into the jade pendant he wore beneath his shirt.
His hand rose slowly, fingertips brushing the cool stone.
Ranzi continued:
"The Meta-I Ching was never just a book. It was a way of seeing—a lens to perceive the patterns of change across heaven, earth, and human life.A philosophy rooted in balance, born from opposites in motion.
Much has been lost, but one truth remains—"
He paused. Then, with quiet intensity, said:
"Change is the fundamental law,and harmony lies in the rhythm of change,where all opposites find their place."
The words hit Shawn like a bolt of lightning.
That line—it was etched in his memory.
The parchment. The flowing calligraphy. The same exact phrase.
His thoughts raced.
Could the Meta Soul they sought be tied to this philosophy?
And more disturbing—how much did Ranzi know?
Was he connected to the Meta Origin Society?
As the lecture continued, Shawn sat frozen, hand clutching the pendant, heart pounding beneath the storm gathering inside him.