Warhammer Cultivation: Cultivating the Tao Te Ching in the 40K Universe

There is only one kind of compassion... equal, full of the essence of "Tao," belonging to the healer.

"Yes, my Primarch."

His voice, though not loud, was clear and resonated throughout the tranquil sky garden, and also over the angel's already wounded and lonely heart.

“I see your ‘illness’.”

When the word "illness," a word brimming with worldly meaning and fragility, was uttered from Hector Kane's calm lips, the air in the entire Wenxinzhai seemed to freeze for a moment.

Marcus Aurelius, the instructor of the Imperial Guard, narrowed his eyes, which were as cold as a lake, almost imperceptibly. His hand, clad in a golden power gauntlet, which held the Guardian's Spear, unconsciously tightened its grip.

He knew that the mortal before him was doing something utterly "outrageous".

In the official discourse of the Empire, Primarchs are the embodiment of "gods," the extension of the Emperor's will, perfect, unquestionable, and absolutely correct. They may make mistakes, they may fail, but they will never "fall ill."

Because "illness" implies "defect".

"Defect" is a synonym for "weakness".

This is the most direct and fundamental blasphemy against the sacredness of the Primitive.

However, to Marcus Aurelius's surprise, the great angel across the stone table, upon hearing this offensive word, did not show the slightest anger on his godlike face. Instead, a self-deprecating and bittersweet smile of relief appeared on his face.

Saint Gilles murmured to himself, slowly lowering the hand he had been tightly clenching, the one clad in a golden power gauntlet. He looked at his demigod-like hand, which had once easily torn through Titan armor, but now trembled slightly due to his uncontrollable inner turmoil. His azure eyes, as blue as the sky, were filled with an indescribable weariness and relief.

“Perhaps you’re right, child.” His voice was hoarse, yet carried an unprecedented honesty. “This is indeed a ‘disease.’ A terminal illness that I myself don’t even know how to name, one that has penetrated to the bone.”

Chapter 164 A Lone Sun Cannot Grow

He slowly raised his head, and for the first time, his azure eyes looked directly at Hector. In those eyes, there was no longer the pride of being the Primarch, nor the condescension towards mortals.

It was an equal gaze, full of pleading, from the "patient" to the "doctor".

“Tell me, Kane. Now that you can see through my ‘illness,’ do you also know where its ‘root’ lies?”

Hector did not answer immediately.

He knew that every word he spoke from now on would be like the sharpest scalpel, cutting open the deepest, already bloodied wound in this angel's heart.

This process will inevitably be painful. But only in this way can the deadly "tumor" be completely exposed to the light of day.

He slowly brewed a cup of spiritual tea, filled with the meaning of "stillness," for himself and for this tormented demigod.

Within the amber-colored tea liquor, wisps of warm, milky-white "qi," like moonlight, slowly rose, once again filling the entire stone table with a tranquil fragrance.

“My Primarch,” Hector’s voice was calm, yet carried the professionalism and authority of a healer, “to understand your ‘illness,’ we first need to understand yourself.”

"You, and all your brothers, are His Majesty's greatest creations. You are the epitome of 'Yang'."

“Yang?” A hint of confusion flashed in Saint Gilles’s eyes.

“Yes, Yang.” Hector nodded and began his “diagnostic report” that crossed the cultural divide: “In the lineage of our ancestors, all things in the universe are composed of the two most fundamental laws, Yin and Yang, which are both opposing and unified.”

“Yang represents light, creation, order, logic, solidity, and ‘divinity’.” He pointed to the simulated, eternal Terran light above the dome. “Yin, on the other hand, represents darkness, destruction, chaos, emotion, weakness, and ‘humanity’.”

"You and your brothers, at the very beginning of your creation, were endowed by His Majesty the Emperor with the purest and most powerful 'Yang' attribute. Your physical bodies are the pinnacle of genetic alchemy, indestructible; your souls are the embodiment of reason and order, radiant with light. You are perfect 'gods' walking in the world."

“But,” he changed the subject, his dark, abyss-like eyes fixed on Saint Gilles, his voice becoming incredibly solemn, “my Primarch cannot be born alone, nor can it grow alone.”

"Any healthy and complete living organism must exist in harmony between 'yin' and 'yang'. A world with only day and no night will ultimately be burned to ashes by its own light. And you..."

Hector's voice became filled with compassion.

“You and your brothers, from the day you were born, were a group of ‘incomplete’ creations that only possess ‘divinity’ but lack ‘humanity’.”

Marcus Aurelius's face, as majestic as an ancient Roman sculpture, revealed a complex expression mixed with shock and a hint of anger!

He instinctively wanted to retort!

However, Saint Gilles slowly raised his hand to stop him.

There was no anger on the angel's face.

There is only one kind of sorrow... the immense grief that follows having one's secrets revealed in a single sentence.

"Go on," he said, his voice hoarse, yet filled with an unprecedented focus.

Hector nodded and continued with his "diagnosis," which was enough to overturn the entire empire's cognitive system.

"In the glorious and victorious 'Yang' era of the Empire, this 'flaw' was perfectly concealed. You only need to be like the sun, to shine, to conquer, and to spread the light of His Majesty's reason throughout the entire galaxy. You are the perfect weapon, you are perfect."

"But when you, for the first time, truly confront the deepest 'yin' of the universe—that is, the chaotic nature of the subspace, filled with disorder and malice"

"When Baal's purification, for the first time, taints your pure heart, once filled with the light of 'divinity,' with the most extreme 'pain' and 'self-doubt' of 'humanity,'"

"You've lost your balance."

"The overwhelming 'yang' divine power within you, which had nowhere to be released, clashed violently with the 'yin' demonic thought that suddenly surged in, filled with destructive desires, in the soul of your soul—a collision that was utterly brutal and without any buffer!"

Hector held up two fingers, one pointing to the sky and the other to the ground.

"The result is a complete imbalance between the 'heart fire' and the 'kidney water'."

He explained the most core theories of the Yellow Emperor's Inner Classic in the most straightforward way.

“The heart contains the spirit, belongs to fire, governs light, and governs joy. Your selfless love and protection for humanity is your most powerful ‘heart fire’.”

"The kidneys store essence, belong to water, govern darkness, fear, and will. That pain and self-doubt stemming from Baal's personal slaughter of his compatriots is that out-of-control, violent 'kidney water'."

“Normally, water can extinguish fire, and fire can warm water. Only through the mutual balance of yin and yang can life continue. But your ‘heart fire’ is too intense, and your ‘love’ is too pure, to the point that it has completely ‘boiled’ the ‘kidney water’ that should be used to restrain it!”

"Boiling water is no longer sweet spring water, but... steam that can destroy everything! The pain and self-doubt caused by being boiled transform into endless 'anger'! And this anger, in turn, acts like the most potent fuel, making your 'heart fire' burn even more violently! This is the root of the never-ending war within your soul!"

“Finally,” Hector’s voice became incredibly solemn, “this war, which originated at the level of the soul, has finally seeped into the material realm with its overflowing 'toxins.' It has polluted your most primal 'essence,' the one that carries all the information of your life, which is…”

"—Your genetic seed."

Chapter 165 Three flavors of heart medicine

When the four cold, scientifically and fatalistic syllables of "gene seed" were uttered from Hector Kane's calm mouth, the air around the stone table, which had been frozen, seemed to be completely solidified by an invisible and even heavier force.

Marcus Aurelius, the instructor of the Imperial Guard, lost the eternal composure that belonged to a guardian, his eyes as cold as an icy lake.

He could understand "heart fire," he could understand "kidney water," and he could even glimpse the fierce war deep within the Primitive's soul from Hector's metaphors, which were full of Eastern wisdom.

But the words "gene seed" carry far too heavy a weight for any Imperial warrior.

That is the future of the Legion, the continuation of Primarch life, and the most sacred and fundamental cornerstone upon which the Empire conquers the galaxy.

And now, this mortal, this mysterious "dean" from Terra, has used a "metaphysical" theory that is almost "blasphemous" and full of mysticism to pronounce a "poisoning" judgment on this greatest creation of the empire.

However, what alarmed him even more was Saint-Gilles's own reaction.

The angel did not refute.

He simply sat there quietly, all the storms in his eyes, which were as blue as the sky, had subsided, leaving only a kind of... deep, bone-deep weariness and... understanding that comes from exhausting all known methods and finally having to face the cruelest truth.

“…Yes.” He murmured to himself, his voice hoarse yet strangely calm, as if recounting a tragedy that had nothing to do with him and was already destined. “Every time…every time I break free from that uncontrollable rage, I can feel that the warm connection between me and my offspring, which should be based on blood ties, becomes even more… ‘burning’.”

He slowly raised his head, his azure eyes looking directly at Hector, his gaze no longer holding the pride of a Primarch, nor the condescension of a mortal.

It was a gaze of equality, full of pleading, belonging to the "patient's" gaze towards the "doctor".

“Tell me.” His voice was hoarse, but it had regained the dignity and decisiveness of the Primarch. “Since you can see through the root of my ‘illness,’ do you also possess the ‘medicine’ that can cure it?”

He knew this was a momentous cause and effect... and it was also what he had always done and sought: to avoid, or at least reduce, the myriad tragedies of this heavy universe.

Every "remedy" he prescribes will not only affect the fate of the angel before him, but will also profoundly change the future trajectory of the entire Ninth Legion and even the entire Empire through him.

He did not answer immediately.

He knew that for a "temple" like Saint Gilles, which had long been scorched by the "fire of the heart," any single, forceful attempt to "cure" it would only lead to a more complete collapse.

What he needs is not a "miracle drug".

What he needs is a complete "method" that can help him rise again from those ruins.

“My Primarch,” Hector’s voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable professionalism and authority befitting a healer, “your ‘illness’ is rooted in your soul and manifested in your genes. It has long been intertwined with your ‘love’ and ‘protection,’ inseparable. Any attempt to forcibly ‘eradicate’ it is tantamount to tearing out your angelic heart along with it.”

These words caused a hint of sadness to flash in Saint Gilles' eyes.

“So,” Hector changed the subject, his dark, calm eyes fixed on Saint Gilles, his voice becoming extremely solemn.

"I cannot offer you a single, 'cure-all' remedy. But I can prescribe three remedies that will teach you how to 'coexist' with this beast and ultimately become its true 'master'... a remedy for the heart."

"The first medicine."

Hector offered no further theoretical explanation. He simply took out a blank scroll from the sleeve of his plain gray monk's robe... made of the finest silk from Prospero that could faintly resonate with psychic energy.

He gently placed the pristine, dust-free scroll on the stone table made of polished black volcanic rock and slowly pushed it toward Saint Gilles.

“…What is this?” A hint of confusion flashed in Saint Gilles’s eyes.

"This medicine is called 'Leaving Blank Space'. It's a medicine for the mindset, and I've discussed it with one of your Primarch brothers."

Hector's voice carried a persuasive quality, a quality that belonged to the "Tao," "My Primarch, you are the most perfect 'Guardian' of the Empire. Your heart is filled with the weight of the entire galaxy, the lives and deaths of your billions of people, and your boundless loyalty to your father's grand vision. Your heart is too 'full'."

He pointed to the blank scroll.

"In the family tradition, the greatest painter, when creating a landscape painting that could be passed down through the ages, did not think about how to fill every corner of the canvas with the most gorgeous colors. On the contrary, he thought about how to leave the most... 'blank space' with the fewest strokes."

"Because that 'white' is not 'emptiness'. It is 'qi' (vital energy), 'yun' (charm), and the most important 'background' that gives this work its soul. It is the most sacred space that allows viewers to participate in this 'creation' with their own imagination."

"You too, my Primarch."

Hector looked into Saint Gilles's deep blue eyes: "Your heart, filled with 'love' and 'protection,' is like a painting that has been filled to the brim, leaving not a single blank space for you to 'breathe.' So when that black ink, born of Baal's pain and self-doubt, dripped down, it had nowhere to go and could only inevitably pollute the entire painting."

"From this day forward, I implore you. Every day, amidst your arduous and endless duty of guardianship, reserve for yourself a 'blank' hour of Terra standard time. During this hour, you need not think about war, about the Empire, about the future of your offspring. You only need to face this blank canvas, do nothing, think nothing. Just... quietly watch it."

"This is 'subtraction.' It is a refreshing rain that falls on your burning heart, which is already overburdened."

Saint Gilles fell silent. His demigod-like hands gently caressed the cool, smooth silk scroll. His heart, long accustomed to being filled with responsibility and mission, felt a strange, almost luxurious longing because of the word "blank."

"The second ingredient."

Hector didn't give him much time to think. He took another item from his sleeve.

It wasn't a scroll, but a roll of bamboo slips, each as thin as a cicada's wing and yellowed with age. Then, with fingers like knives, he began to carve words on the bamboo slips on the spot.

Before long, he gently pushed the bamboo scroll, which was full of historical weight, in front of Saint Gilles as well.

Chapter 166 The Seed of the Heart Demon

“This medicine of thought is called ‘non-abiding,’ which I have also shared with your brother.”

“Yes, non-abiding.” Hector’s voice became distant and serene, as if recounting a long-lost dream. “Another classic of my ancestors said: ‘The past mind is unattainable, the present mind is unattainable, the future mind is unattainable.’”

“My Primarch, I know that you suffer from two great pains. One stems from the ‘past.’ That red desert of Baal, that ‘purification’ you carried out yourself, is like a wound that never heals, and the blood still flows unseen in your soul.”

“The second one stems from the ‘future.’” Hector’s gaze became incredibly profound, as if he could see through the deepest secrets hidden behind the angel’s azure eyes.

"You possess the unparalleled talent to see through the fog of time. You have already seen countless futures, even 'endings,' of yourself in that inescapable nightmare. They are like an unshakable mountain of destiny, weighing heavily on your every breath."

Saint Gilles' body jolted violently! His deep blue eyes widened in horror!

He is now bombarded with countless fragments of the future every day. If he weren't the original, he would have died from a brain hemorrhage long ago.

Others vaguely knew that he possessed the ability to foresee the future, but he never revealed to anyone that his prophetic abilities had grown to the point of being uncontrollable—this darkest truth, which belonged only to him!

Including his closest brothers, and even his father!

But this mortal before him actually... knew?

“You are bound tightly to the cold cross of the present by two equally heavy chains, the ‘past’ and the ‘future.’ Your heart has nowhere to go, nowhere to escape, and can only be repeatedly tormented in this eternal pain.” Hector’s voice carried a compassionate quality born of profound understanding.

“And ‘non-abiding’ is the sharp blade that cuts these two chains.”

He pointed to the ancient bamboo scroll.

It doesn't ask you to 'forget' the past, nor does it ask you to 'deny' the future. It's simply reminding you of a very simple truth—

"—Whether it is a painful past or a predetermined future, they are merely ripples in the ever-flowing river of time, either long gone or yet to take shape. They are not 'real'."

"The only thing that is real is your heart 'now'. Only you can find that final 'anchor' in this never-ending wave, so that you won't completely sink."

“From this day forward, I implore you. During your one hour of ‘blank space,’ please also immerse your demigod mind in this bamboo scroll. Observe, comprehend. Watch those waves of pain flow past you, and no longer try to… jump into the river to fight them.”

"This is the 'fixed law.' It is the divine anchor set for your soul ark, which is about to capsize in the storms of the past and the future."

Saint Gilles was utterly shocked.

Looking at the two seemingly simple yet seemingly imbued with the wisdom of the entire universe, his heart, long numbed by pain, felt a long-lost clarity, as if washed clean by a spring.