32 Quotes About Yuan

Yuan frowns. Nothing should interrupt a Sufi Raag. His frown disappears soon after. A monk must never lose control over his emotions. Not even the deaths of thirty-seven seemingly-pet, rare animals can make him lose it.

Mastering time isn’t about stopping time, rather, slowing down its effects. Though in the last decade, he has let his dark wavy hair fade and wrinkles grow near his eyes. Even a line or two is visible on his forehead. He sits on a cliff now. His toned torso half-covered in a dark, plain shawl. His chest swells in flawless, mathematical rhythm when he breathes.

He waits; they will be here soon, the wind says. Here they come—

Yuan smiles. Subtle stirs in the prana field eke from the forest, spreading, constantly tapping his ground. At first, they’re few, then more, but not countless. Nothing around him is countless, not while he is in focus. The stirs, caused by light footsteps, grow stronger. Something is different today: blood and a whimper.

All living creatures always sense what heals their woe—a code in their subconscious.