Wei needed to leave the area. The "Starbucks" was located near a place the locals called "Times Square."

  Wei had walked into it and nearly drawn his weapon (a stale bagel he had saved).

  The lights. The moving pictures on the walls. The sheer density of people.

  *An Illusion Array,* Wei concluded. *Designed to trap the mind and drain the spirit.*

  People walked around like zombies, staring at giant glowing women in underwear on the walls.

  Wei kept his head down and his hand on his cash. He needed a quiet place to cultivate. A forest. Or at least a very large shrub.

  He turned down a side street, seeking darkness.

  It was a dead end. A "cul-de-sac" of trash cans and wet cardboard.

  Wei turned to leave.

  Three men blocked the exit.

  They wore leather jackets and expressions of predatory intent. They reminded Wei of the Iron Fang bandits near the sect border, but with better hygiene and worse posture.

  "Hey, Bruce Lee!" the leader, a man with a jagged scar on his chin, sneered. "Nice robes!"

  The other two chuckled. It was a practiced chuckle.

  "We saw you counting that cash in the coffee shop," the leader continued, pulling a small knife. "We know you got it in there somewhere. Hand it over."

  Wei sighed. He adjusted his sleeves.

  "Robbery," Wei said, sounding bored. "A classic profession. But you are doing it wrong."

  "Excuse me?" The leader blinked.

  "Your stance," Wei pointed. "Your feet are too close together. If I sweep your leg, you will fall. And you," he pointed to the thug on the left. "You are holding your breath. You are tense. You should be loose like water."

  "Get him!" the leader screamed, lunging forward with the knife.

  Wei didn't move his feet. He simply rotated his torso.

  The knife passed harmlessly by his chest.

  Wei reached out and tapped the leader's wrist. Just a tap. But he targeted the "Funny Bone" meridian.

  *ZAP.*

  The leader screamed and dropped the knife. His arm went numb.

  "Aiii! My hand!"

  The second thug swung a heavy chain.

  Wei caught the chain.

  "Metal element," Wei noted. "Poor quality. Rusted."

  He yanked the chain. The thug flew forward, colliding with the third thug.

  *Bonk.*

  They fell into a pile of trash bags.

  Wei looked down at them. They were groaning.

  "You lack foundation," Wei lectured. "You rely on intimidation, but you have no intent. Go back to your dojo. Practice your Horse Stance for ten years. Then try again."

  He stepped over them.

  "Also," Wei added, picking up the fallen knife. "This is not a weapon. It is a letter opener."

  He tossed it into a dumpster. *Clang.*

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  ***

  Wei found his sanctuary in the northern part of Central Park.

  It was a large Oak tree. Its branches were thick, its leaves dense.

  To a New Yorker, climbing a tree to sleep was insane. To a Cultivator, it was the only safe place to avoid ground-level predators (rats and police officers).

  Wei leaped. He grabbed a branch twenty feet up and hauled himself onto it.

  He tied himself to the trunk with his sash (standard cultivator safety) and closed his eyes.

  The Qi here was still thin, but the tree offered a small filter. It was peaceful.

  He slept.

  ***

  Dawn.

  Wei woke with the sun. His body was stiff. The "park bench" quality of the branch was not ideal.

  He dropped from the tree, landing silently in the grass.

  A few early morning joggers froze, staring at the man who had just fallen from the sky.

  Wei ignored them. It was time for his Morning Arts.

  He assumed the stance.

  Feet shoulder-width apart. Hands raised.

  He began the "Azure Cloud Flow."

  It looked like Tai Chi, but slower. Denser.

  As he moved, he visualized the Qi in the air—the smog, the dew, the sunlight—and pulled it into his lungs.

  *Inhale the morning. Exhale the night.*

  His skin flushed a healthy pink. A faint mist (steam from his sweat) began to rise from his shoulders.

  "Whoa," a jogger whispered, stopping to watch.

  "Is that Tai Chi?" another asked. "Look at his form. He's perfect."

  "He looks so... peaceful."

  Wei moved into the "Pushing the Mountain" form. His palms extended. The air *whooshed* audibly.

  A stray frisbee, thrown by a college student playing catch with his dog, sailed off course. It whizzed toward Wei's head.

  The crowd gasped. "Watch out!"

  Wei didn't open his eyes. He didn't break his stance.

  He simply raised his left hand and plucked the frisbee out of the air. *Snap.*

  He held the pose.

  Then, he slowly lowered his arm and handed the frisbee to the stunned dog that had run up to him.

  "Good beast," Wei whispered.

  The crowd erupted.

  "Did you see that?"

  "He caught it blind!"

  "He's a master!"

  A man in a suit, sweat-stained and looking like he was about to have a heart attack, pushed to the front.

  "Hey!" the businessman gasped. "Excuse me! Master!"

  Wei opened one eye. "I am not a Master. I am a Disciple."

  "Whatever," the man panted. "I'm stressed. My wife hates me. My boss hates me. I can't sleep. Can you teach me that? That... calmness?"

  Wei looked at the man. He saw tight meridians. High blood pressure. Weak spirit.

  "You wish to cultivate?" Wei asked.

  "I wish to not die of a stroke at forty," the man admitted.

  Wei considered. He needed money for food. He needed a place to stay eventually.

  A Sect needed disciples. Even if they were weak.

  "Class begins tomorrow at dawn," Wei announced. "Tuition is ten dollars."

  The man whipped out a wallet. "I'm in."

  "Me too!" a woman in yoga pants yelled.

  "Count me in!"

  Wei looked at the handful of cash being thrust at him.

  *So be it,* Wei thought. *The Park Sect is established.*