Chapter 12: Lacking Talent

At first, the Ancient One prided herself on her long years—she had eaten more salt than this young man had eaten rice. What could possibly surprise her? She had forgotten that as long as one does not die of old age, there are new wonders to witness each day.

For once, she could not keep a straight face and burst out laughing.

On the other side, Meimu—no, now Meimumu—had fallen into utter despair, the object of their laughter.

Ah!
The sky is so blue!
Wouldn’t it have been better if I’d just died from the fall a moment ago?

No one chooses their own parents, after all...

Meimumu suddenly recalled all those stories she’d heard in her dormitory about unreliable parents. For instance, there was a father surnamed Wang who wanted to name his daughter “Honor of Kings.” Damn it, did he not consider that when his daughter grew up, that game might no longer be popular? Or another case: a man surnamed Wang and a woman surnamed Ma had a child, and the husband insisted the child’s surname should be Li. Why? Because Wang plus Ma equals Li! Yet another: someone surnamed Pan wanted to register his daughter as Pendragon. The girl at the registry counter scoffed: “Don’t even think about it. Even if her surname is Pendragon, she’ll never be Saber.”

Sigh! In short, having such a pair of extraordinary parents is truly exhausting!

Once, Meimumu had harbored endless resentment. But then he remembered that, out of billions of siblings, only he had survived; every year, billions of lives were wiped out by the death gods led by Durex. Suddenly, his heart felt more balanced.

For some reason, the Ancient One seemed even more amused.

At long last, the laughter—so intense that some were nearly rolling on the ground—finally subsided, and the question arose: since Meimumu wasn’t a spy, would he be spared?

Baron Mordo and the other disciples all looked to the Ancient One.

The Ancient One tried to compose herself, to appear solemn, but a smile still lingered on her face. She waved her hand, “You may all go back now.”

Baron Mordo and the rest bowed to the Ancient One and retreated swiftly into the shadows.

The Ancient One stood with her hands behind her back as a cool breeze swept through the dark alley, her yellow robe—halfway between monk’s habit and samurai’s attire—fluttering in the wind, lending her an even more ethereal, otherworldly air.

“Meimumu, did you say you must become my disciple?”

“Yes!” Meimumu bowed his head.

“This too is fate’s choice. Whether I like it or not, Kaecilius has already come for me. If you don’t take me in, I’ll be dead within three days.”

Such a statement from Meimumu made the Ancient One frown. Sorcerers, after all, are proud, and as the Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One had protected this world for over a thousand years. The ideal of safeguarding the world and all its people was etched deep into her soul.

She was not so saintly as to swear to protect every mortal, but to watch an ordinary person die simply because he was caught up in her disciple’s rebellion was something she found hard to bear.

“Nothing at all.” Meimumu’s first answer made the Ancient One raise an eyebrow.

“Or perhaps, all-seeing, all-knowing.” His second answer made her frown deeply.

The Ancient One had lived for more than a millennium, yet in all that time, she had never met anyone as utterly confounding as Meimumu. He was like a walking paradox.

To call him fearless and ignorant was clearly inaccurate; he knew much, and seemed to harbor vague fears. To call him omniscient and omnipotent—hardly. His abilities were laughably weak, and she could gauge his power at a glance.

Yes, his power level was three—at best, five. No higher.

Ordinarily, no one beneath the level of a planetary being could conceal anything from her. Yet even when she exerted her full power to peer into Meimumu’s mind, many crucial places remained shrouded in mist.

And yet, her instincts told her that every word Meimumu spoke was true.

The Ancient One sighed. “In Kathmandu, at least a hundred thousand people claim to be prophets who can foresee the future. Among them are charlatans, and those who preach based on mere conjecture. Only a tiny handful can truly glimpse destiny. Even they cannot guarantee that what they see will inevitably come to pass.”

Meimumu certainly remembered that the Ancient One could glimpse the future through the Eye of Agamotto. That artifact was, in fact, the vessel of the greatest of the six Infinity Stones—the Time Stone.

Others might be frauds, but the Ancient One was not.

Her words, therefore, were a refusal.

Meimumu’s face darkened. He knew he had to fight for himself.

Effort does not guarantee success, but lack of effort guarantees failure. When one has the chance to seize their own fate, one must never leave it in another’s hands.

In a way, Meimumu’s will to survive was tremendous!

Meimumu gritted his teeth. First, he had to find the root of the problem—why, in the film, did the Ancient One accept Doctor Strange so readily, even employing all sorts of theories to persuade the medical expert Stephen Strange? Yet when faced with him, she seemed to harbor endless doubts?

“May I ask, why do you insist on refusing me?” he asked.

The Ancient One sighed again. She turned slowly, presenting him with a solitary figure.

“Kamar-Taj does not refuse anyone with talent for the mystic arts who is willing to defend this world. Unfortunately, you possess almost no talent at all! It’s like the NBA in America—countless children dream of becoming basketball stars, but only a few hundred ever make it. The path to becoming a sorcerer’s apprentice is even more ruthless.”

It was as if a thunderbolt had struck him.

In that moment, Meimumu finally understood the difference between himself and Doctor Strange.

Doctor Strange was a once-in-a-millennium prodigy, a genius whose talent shone as brightly as a beacon—just as any seasoned basketball scout would recognize Kobe Bryant at a glance and never let him slip by.

But Meimumu... had no talent.

These words were nothing short of a death sentence.

If he could not board the Ancient One’s ship, his path to becoming a great sorcerer would be cut off, and the chain reaction meant he had no idea how he could ever join the ranks of superheroes.

Failing that, he would remain a mere bystander in the Marvel world—a world where Earth could be destroyed any number of times.

Meimumu had a strong premonition that if he did not seize this opportunity, when Thanos descended upon Earth in two years’ time, he would be turned to cosmic dust with a snap of the Mad Titan’s fingers.

A cry echoed deep within his soul—an unyielding roar, his final desperate struggle.

Suddenly—

He thought of a key word.

“Wait, did you say I have ‘almost’ no talent?”

The Ancient One sighed. “Yes. You possess a slightly stronger sixth sense than most, which allows you to faintly perceive the special energies flowing through nature. But this is far from meeting the standard for a sorcerer’s apprentice.”

The Ancient One did not expect that with a single sentence, the aura of this ordinary mortal would shift dramatically.

“What if I told you that three days ago, I couldn’t sense any elemental energy at all?”