Читать книгу The Perfect Match - Сергей Редькин - Страница 1

He was sitting on the stone floor in the Hall of Prayer with his mind creating the worlds that he was the master of. He was about thirty-five, his head was shaved, and he was wearing a black kimono beneath black robes held shut in the front with a sash1. It was quite chilly for August, but his body didn’t feel the cold wind that was getting through the open windows of the ancient2 pagoda nor the coldness of the old stones he was sitting on. He could feel that soon he would be able to project his power to the real world around him. The monks in the temple he was in knew better than to disturb him during his meditations. For the past five years, his power was constantly enhancing3, and the monks could feel that too.

There were three steps in his process of achieving Control, where he could feel that the power of his thought could make things move and bend4 other people’s ability to think and overpower their emotions. Before getting to Control, however, there was Calmness and Detachment5. He was in the process of getting calm when a bright lightning of a sharp emotion pierced6 through his mind. He saw the image of his father. He frowned7 at this unexpected occurrence8 and opened his eyes.

“He’s dead,” he whispered.

He sat in silence for another minute. His face relaxed and a smile appeared.

“At last.”