Chapter Sixty-Four: Learning to Sleep?

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Qin Anyi had been living comfortably in the detention center for two days now. The deterrent force of the mysterious figure was so overwhelming that the other inmates treated him like an ancestor, almost worshipping him. As a result, apart from meals, Qin Anyi spent his days doing basic training in the cell. Occasionally, he had Big Fatty cooperate with him, making it seem to the duty officers that he was being subjected to inhuman abuse—lest they suspect anything unusual and transfer him to another cell. If that happened, it would surely bring more trouble.

Qin Anyi also had his own little plans. By sheer luck, he’d encountered a mysterious powerhouse in this cell. The man’s identity was unknown, yet he was clearly helping him intentionally. If Qin Anyi could once again receive guidance from this mysterious figure as he had on the first day, it would provide an immense boost to his own abilities.

As he continued his basic training, Qin Anyi’s mind wandered. His push-ups now took the form of a handstand, his ten fingers pressed against the floor, bearing the entire weight of his body. His palms hovered above the ground, not touching it, while his arms bent and straightened repeatedly. This method not only trained his balance but greatly improved the strength of his arms and fingers. Even his legs, which weren’t actively used, had to continually adjust themselves during the exercise to maintain balance. The training benefited his entire body.

When wearing the weighted vest, Qin Anyi couldn’t perform this exercise—the added weight and lowered center of gravity exceeded the load his fingers could bear. Without the vest, however, he found that ordinary push-ups no longer provided much challenge. Thus, he began this modified form of training.

“Training should be in two aspects. Has no one told you that? Simply strengthening your body will eventually lead you astray,” the mysterious figure, who had seemed to be sleeping, suddenly spoke after Qin Anyi completed a thousand of these handstand push-ups.

“Two aspects? Astray? Never heard of it.” Qin Anyi straightened up, finished his prescribed number, and shook his head at the mysterious figure’s assessment.

“Only ten years have passed, and the teachings of the Dragon Riders to newcomers have become so absurd?” the mysterious figure muttered quietly, but Qin Anyi didn’t catch what he said.

“Sir… what did you say?” Qin Anyi walked over, curious, and asked.

“What ‘sir’? Didn’t I tell you before? Either call me ‘old bastard’, or call me whatever you like. Names are just labels; don’t make such a fuss over them.” The mysterious figure waved his hand impatiently and sat up.

Qin Anyi noticed that the other inmates grew tense as soon as the mysterious figure moved, each quickly retreating to their bunks, pretending to be corpses.

“Alright then… old bastard?” Qin Anyi scratched his head awkwardly. Despite the man’s insistence, this way of addressing someone was rather unnatural to him, so his tone was somewhat forced.

“Hmph! Rotten wood can’t be carved. True respect isn’t shown by a mere title. Remember, everything comes from the heart. In this world, nothing is truly right or wrong. Whatever you do—even if the heavens rage and the people curse—so long as you have no regrets in your heart, it’s enough!” The mysterious figure’s tone was like a stern parent, but Qin Anyi was stunned by his words—it was as if he’d been struck by lightning.

It… seemed to make sense. Many things didn’t need to be so hard to let go of; every event has two sides, and right or wrong is irrelevant. Justice and evil are merely shifts in the balance of one’s heart.

Qin Anyi blinked, suddenly grateful to have met this mysterious figure in the detention center. Their brief conversations had pinpointed the confusion and lack of direction in Qin Anyi’s heart at this moment.

It had only been about a week since he’d obtained the Qilin, and the immense change kept him in a constant state of adaptation and urgency. Some psychological changes and their ensuing problems had not truly been considered. Unexpectedly, this mysterious man had directly pointed out the issue and told him how to face it properly.

“I am enlightened,” Qin Anyi bowed respectfully to the mysterious figure, the gesture coming from the heart—he was genuinely grateful, though unsure how to express it. Despite his insistence on etiquette, the mysterious figure’s eyes briefly showed appreciation before it vanished.

The mysterious figure waved his hand impatiently. “Stubborn, but persistence is one form of strength. Kid, true training isn’t just about tempering your body—it’s about strengthening your mind. If a person’s will is weak, no matter how strong their body, they remain a weakling.”

“Spirit? Shouldn’t that be honed during physical training?” Qin Anyi was confused. From the perspective of willpower, pushing oneself to the physical limit was a great test of the mind.

“I know what you’re thinking, but understand this: no one can truly define how strong a person’s mind can be. The body has limits—it’s matter, and all matter has an unbreakable structural limit. But the mind is different: it’s immaterial, without form or shape, yet it truly exists. In theory, the mind has limitless potential. Your current training barely improves your mind—it’s very passive.”

The mysterious figure chuckled, wagging his finger before Qin Anyi’s eyes. “Passively strengthening your mind only lets it chase after your body, always lagging behind. That’s wrong. True powerhouses always have minds stronger than their bodies, because from the individual perspective, the mind governs the body!”

“Um… so how should I train my mind?” Qin Anyi’s head spun, but he understood the gist—the mysterious figure was right, though no one had ever discussed such matters with him. Qilin had no concept of human ‘spirit’, and Wang Yiran, awed by Qin Anyi’s abilities, thought a super genius with computational skills greater than a computer couldn’t possibly have a weak spirit, so he never considered the issue.

Unfortunately, Qin Anyi’s computational skills came entirely from Qilin, and had little to do with himself.

“There’s never been a systematic way to train the mind, since it’s formless and unique to each person. Historically, there’s only been general direction, but when it comes to practical training, everyone devises their own method suited to themselves.”

“So how did you train?” Qin Anyi rubbed his temples as he asked.

“Me? Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?!”

“That’s right. Over the years, I found this method suits me best. Since fate has brought us together here, I’ll teach you. Let me show you the truly proper way to sleep,” the mysterious figure said boldly.

Qin Anyi was stunned. He’d lived eighteen years—today, he was about to learn from someone how to sleep?