Chapter 41: Please Call Me Master Mei

At that moment, the sound of applause suddenly rang out not far away.

“Clap! Clap! Clap!” The applause, in the midst of the deathly silence that had enveloped the hall, sounded all the more abrupt.

If anyone else had been applauding, Mordo would likely have wanted to drown himself in a barrel of tofu. But it was the Ancient One who was applauding, and that made all the difference.

“Don’t underestimate that technique just now,” the Ancient One said, her voice calm and measured. “He used his left and right hands and feet to execute two entirely different responses, as if two masterful twin brothers were attacking Mordo from both sides. That’s why Mordo lost his defense.” As the Supreme Sorcerer, her praise was not lightly given. “Excellent! Remarkable Chinese martial arts—even if I faced it for the first time, I would probably be flustered myself.”

A collective gasp swept through the audience.

Was Meimu, this novice disciple with crippled hands, really so formidable?

Meimu, meanwhile, felt embarrassed by the Ancient One’s praise, and could only muster an awkward yet polite smile.

The Ancient One stepped slowly into the arena, her blue warrior’s robe lending her a transcendent aura. “Once upon a time, Kamar-Taj trained only those who stood and cast spells, defeating enemies with dazzling magic. But such sorcerers are rigid when faced with foes from different worlds, whose methods of attack and defense are strange and unpredictable. Our forebears paid a heavy, bloody price for this.”

She waved her folding fan and continued, “That is why, as mystics, we must still master close combat skills. A resilient body and quick reflexes greatly aid our cultivation of mystical power. Moreover, there’s an old saying from Meimu’s homeland: ‘The sea of learning has no end; those who reach it first are masters.’ We must show proper respect to those who excel in any field. Understood?”

Her words inspired solemn respect in all the disciples surrounding her.

For a moment, the entire hall rang with their unified shout: “Understood!”

As they spoke, everyone—including Mordo—bowed in salute to Meimu.

Yes!

At this moment, in the realm of martial arts, Meimu—the ‘half-blood’ from the Celestial Empire—was undeniably a master.

Meimu felt extremely awkward, a little ashamed by all the attention.

“All right, everyone, resume your training,” the Ancient One commanded, and immediately the disciples began sparring anew.

Nearby, Mordo had adjusted his mindset.

“Whew!” He grasped his staff, striking a stance once more. “I never expected you were hiding so much. The first time I met you, you showed no reaction at all to the Fallen.”

Meimu, the actor, tilted his head back at a forty-five degree angle, as if invisible tears were sliding down his cheeks. “Ah, the past is hard to recall. I thought that after entering civilized society, I would never need those relics of a bygone era. No matter how well one trains in martial arts, can it really be faster than a bullet? So all the skills I learned when I visited my homeland with my mother, I had long abandoned.”

“Fortunately, you’ve reclaimed them now,” Mordo said, moved. “I heard that your ancestral martial arts can’t be taught to outsiders; otherwise, I’d really want to learn. Just now, I truly felt like I was being attacked by two masters at once…”

“You want to learn?” Meimu chuckled inwardly like a pig.

Oh! Mordo, you actually took the bait in this matter. It’s like there’s a road to heaven you refuse to walk, but you barge right into hell.

Heh!

Hehehe!

“Of course,” Mordo replied earnestly, not realizing anything amiss.

“I can teach you, but not everyone can master this technique. Do you want to try? You must swear to owe me a great favor and repay it in the future.” Meimu felt as sly as Mephistopheles tricking souls in Faust.

Well, Marvel has its own Mephisto, doesn’t it?

For most people, owing someone a favor might require some thought, but for shameless rogues, that’s hardly a problem. “The debtor is the master,” as the saying goes.

But Mordo was not like that.

He was meticulous, even obsessive. In the comics, his departure from the Ancient One was also motivated by jealousy of Doctor Strange’s talent and power.

Seeing Mordo’s hesitation, Meimu pressed further: “Don’t worry, I treat it as finger training. I used it to enhance my surgical skills. Even if ordinary people can’t grasp its essence, it’ll greatly improve their hand speed.”

Mordo’s heart was stirred. If all he could do was wield magical weapons in battle, he’d be at best a magic swordsman. As a battle mage, spellcasting was a major component. To cast spells swiftly in combat, simply reciting incantations couldn’t compare to combining them with gestures.

Learning Meimu’s special technique would be immensely beneficial.

Mordo finally nodded. “All right! I’ll learn! But you must swear not to use my oath to force me into anything against the path of justice.”

“Deal.” Meimu smiled serenely, but behind him, an invisible fox’s tail was surely wagging.

Having discovered Meimu’s ‘talent’ in martial arts, Mordo put aside his role as a semi-mentor, and instead adopted the attitude of a senior guide, introducing Meimu to various magical implements.

That evening, Meimu borrowed a meditation room used by magical apprentices, and took on the role of Mordo’s instructor.

“We’re sharing skills, so there’s no need for any master-disciple ceremony; after all, we’re both disciples of the Ancient One,” Meimu said first.

“Of course,” Mordo agreed.

Meimu began his lesson in earnest:

“All right, the skill I’m about to teach you originated in the Central Plains of the Celestial Empire, long, long ago. The great martial artist who invented it bore the surname Zhou.”

“The principle is to use a series of methods to simultaneously train the left and right hemispheres of the brain, so they can think independently. Since the hemispheres naturally coordinate themselves, you needn’t worry about messing yourself up.”

“The first exercise is ‘draw a circle with your left hand, and a square with your right.’”

As he spoke, Meimu demonstrated on two smooth, square sand trays. Sure enough, he produced a perfect circle, as if drawn with a compass, and a flawless square—both at the same time, starting and finishing together. Of course, due to his shaky hands, all the movements were accomplished with golden magical threads.

Magic is unrelated to the physical integrity of the body; Master Hamir had already proven that.

“This… is really hard!” Mordo tried repeatedly, but his attempts were all clumsy.

“No rush, no rush. I practiced for three whole months before I could do it properly,” Meimu said, striking the pose of a seasoned master, sipping oolong tea with both hands in the traditional tea ceremony style.

“That’s it?” Mordo was itching to know more. “May I ask, what’s the next step?”

“To rush ahead before mastering the basics is a grave mistake, but this isn’t too difficult, since it’s just the standard. The second step is to write different characters with each hand simultaneously. For example…”

Sitting across from Mordo, Meimu, from Mordo’s perspective, wrote two characters—one an Arabic numeral, the other an English letter.

Yes, they were—

‘2’ and ‘B’.