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

He cleverly replaced "instruction" with "discussion," shifting the responsibility from himself to them. This was both a form of self-protection and a test of their sincerity.

“I understand.” A resolute glint flashed in Ahriman’s eyes. “Whatever the cost, we are willing to try. Please wait a moment.”

He bowed respectfully, then turned and hurried away. His steps carried a resolute air of grasping at a last straw.

Late that night, Hector was taken to a secluded area of ​​the Tower of Light. It was a long-abandoned star chart room; the enormous holographic star disk was closed, leaving only the faint emergency lights on the dome casting a hazy shadow over everything inside. It was a secluded and quiet place, an ideal location for a secret meeting.

In the room, besides Ahriman, stood four other Sons of the Thousand Sins. They were all high-ranking members of the Legion's intelligence pool, a fact Hector could discern from their ornate armor and the psionic energy emanating from them.

Their faces bore a similar expression to Ahriman's, a mixture of expectation, doubt, and pain. On one of them, the skin on his arm had taken on a waxy, ominous color—a typical symptom of the early stages of "flesh mutation."

“Mr. Kane,” Ahriman introduced him, “these are my most trusted brothers. They are all willing to… ‘let go’.”

Hector glanced around and could sense that these powerful psionicists were scrutinizing him as if he were a rare treasure. Their gazes were filled with inquiry, attempting to analyze him with their psionic abilities.

Hector didn't speak, but walked to the center of the room and slowly sat down cross-legged. He closed his eyes, and his entire being instantly became still, as if merging with the surrounding shadows, turning into a lifeless statue.

This extreme stillness gradually transformed the inquisitive expressions on the faces of the think tank members into astonishment. They discovered that their usually infallible psychic abilities, when applied to Hector, were like a stone thrown into the sea, yielding no response whatsoever.

"The first lesson of the 'Way of Silence,' and the eternal lesson," Hector's voice emanated from the "statue," resonating calmly in everyone's hearts, "is 'sitting in meditation.'"

"What?" one think tank member couldn't help but exclaim, his tone filled with confusion, "Just...sitting?"

“Yes,” Hector replied, “Gather all your power, cease all your drawing and manipulation of the Great Ocean. Just sit, and with your hearts, 'listen' and 'see'.”

"What are you listening to? What are you looking at?" another person pressed.

“Listen to your own breath, observe your own thoughts,” Hector’s voice was distant and ethereal. “Imagine yourselves as the riverbank. Imagine the whispers of the great ocean, the distractions in your hearts, even your fear of the curse, as the ever-flowing river. Do not try to stop it, do not try to change it, and certainly do not jump into the river to fight it. All you have to do is sit on the bank and quietly… watch it flow by.”

These words were utterly unbelievable to these powerful wizards who were accustomed to taking the initiative and controlling everything. Asking them to relinquish their control over their power and passively "observe" was a hundred times more difficult than asking them to charge into battle and challenge a demon prince.

But under Ahriman’s stern gaze, the five Sons of a Thousand Sins still awkwardly sat down cross-legged, just like Hector.

Silence enveloped the entire Star Chart Museum.

But this silence lasted for less than a minute before it was completely broken.

"No!" The think tank member whose arm had mutated let out a painful growl. Veins bulged on his forehead, and cold sweat poured down his face. "When I stopped absorbing psionic energy, 'that' thing... it became even more active! My flesh is itching, it's screaming!"

"I...I saw countless chaotic futures!" Another think tank member opened his eyes, his gaze filled with fear. "They slithered into my mind like venomous snakes!"

Ahriman's situation wasn't much better. He had the strongest willpower, but precisely because of this, his connection to the warp was also the deepest.

When he tried to “contemplate,” countless powerful psionic runes, complex spellcasting formulas, and fragments of knowledge from the Great Ocean raced wildly through his mind like uncontrolled wild horses, making it impossible for him to calm down.

They failed. Utterly and completely failed.

"Why...why is this happening?" Ahriman's voice was filled with frustration.

“Because your ‘well’ has been dug too deep and for too long.” Hector slowly opened his eyes, looking at them calmly. “Your souls have become accustomed to resonating with the waterfall, even becoming a part of it. When you try to leave the waterfall, you will naturally feel a tearing pain.”

He stood up and walked over to the think tank member who was suffering terribly due to the mutation of his flesh.

“Don’t suppress it,” Hector said softly. “Feel it, acknowledge its presence. It is part of you. Now, follow my guidance and focus on your breath.”

Hector gently tapped the think tank member's forehead with one finger.

A wisp of pure, gentle true essence, imbued with the tranquility of stillness, flowed slowly into the other's chaotic mental world like a gentle stream.

This force was not powerful, but its "quality" surpassed all violent spiritual energy, instantly creating a small, absolutely peaceful haven within the core of the think tank's consciousness.

“That’s it… Hold onto this ‘stillness.’ Let it be your ‘shore,’” Hector guided.

The pained expression on the think tank member's face miraculously began to ease. His rapid breathing gradually became steady and long. The madness in his eyes faded, replaced by an unprecedented, relieved tranquility.

“I…I can’t feel it anymore…” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief, “That…that deep-seated 'itch'…it…it’s gone…”

Although it only lasted a dozen seconds, the light in the think tank's eyes completely changed when Hector withdrew his finger. He looked at Hector as if he were looking at a true god.

This scene brought a shock to the other four that was far more intense than any words could express.

Ahriman's breathing quickened instantly. A blazing fire of "hope" erupted in his eyes, a fire that seemed capable of engulfing anyone!

It really works!

This mysterious philosophy from Terra, called the "Way of Silence," is really... useful!

“Mr. Kane!” Ahriman’s voice trembled slightly with excitement. “Please…please continue to guide us! We are willing to pay any price!”

Hector looked at them and sighed softly. He knew that this "spark" had truly been ignited. But whether it would burn into a prairie fire of hope or a self-destructive disaster remained to be seen.

In the following weeks, these secret "philosophical discussions" became a regular occurrence for Hector on the Tower of Light. Under his guidance, Ahriman and his small circle began to painstakingly learn how to build an island of "stillness" within the turbulent ocean of their own hearts.

Although progress was slow, every small success filled them with ecstasy.

Their attitude towards Hector changed from initial scrutiny to extreme respect, and even... dependence.

Their Primarch, Magnus, seemed completely unaware of this. He secluded himself in the Sanctuary, studying the theories of "learning and the Way" brought by Hector, regarding them as an interesting and intriguing "foreign philosophy" to be learned from.

He allowed Hector to communicate with his children, believing it would broaden their horizons. Like a confident chemist, he watched with fascination as two unrelated reagents were mixed together, completely unaware that this could trigger a revolutionary chain reaction.

The peaceful days came to an end when an encrypted message arrived from Terra.

The Emperor will convene an unprecedented Grand Council on a world called "Nicaea." The sole agenda item is: the use of psionic energy within the Imperial Legions and the fate of the Think Tank.

This news was like a thunderclap, exploding through the fleet of the Sons of a Thousand Sins.

"As expected... the order of the nodes in this universe doesn't correspond one-to-one with the memories in my mind. Things will happen, but the order will be different." Hector muttered to himself the moment he heard the information.

The general trend of history seemed to be as he knew it, but the key moments of some major events were not the same.

The events that originally occurred in the order ABCD are now ACBD. The order has changed, but the cause, the result, and the nodes themselves will not change much.

The Ulano celebrations should have already taken place, and the Nicaea Conference was supposed to follow the celebrations, but it seems to have been brought forward.

But the plight of the children of a thousand wounds is no different.

That evening, Hector again sought an audience with Magnus.

“My esteemed Primarch,” Hector said with utmost solemnity, “regarding this council, I have once again used the ‘I Ching’ to perform the deepest divination for you.”

"Speak, you lowly regent. What kind of farce will my brothers put on this time?" Magnus's voice carried a hint of dismissive contempt. He clearly believed this was just a debate he could easily win with his wit and eloquence.

“The hexagram is ‘Heaven and Water Litigation’,” Hector said in a deep voice. “The upper trigram is Qian (☰), and the lower trigram is Kan (☵). Qian represents heaven, strength, and the ruler; Kan represents water, danger, and the inner self. This hexagram symbolizes a public and fierce dispute. A strong and virtuous person is arguing with a treacherous and wicked person. Although the truth is on the side of the virtuous person, the process is full of danger.”

The hexagram's text says: "There is sincerity, but it is thwarted. Caution brings moderate good fortune, but ultimately misfortune."

Hector explained, “It means that although you possess integrity and truth, the road ahead will be blocked and difficult. If you can remain vigilant and impartial in the debate, you can still gain some good fortune. But if you insist on going your own way and persist to the end, the final result will inevitably be great danger.”

He raised his head and looked directly into Magnus’s burning single eye.

“My king, the classics of my ancestors also say: ‘He who does not contend, therefore none in the world can contend with him.’ Your greatest advantage is your unparalleled wisdom and psychic power. But in Nikaia, in front of those brothers who are filled with fear and prejudice against psychic power, your greatest advantage will become their greatest excuse to attack and slander you!”

"The more you display power, the more fear they will have. The more eloquent you are, the more they will think you are just being pretentious."

"Therefore, I implore you. In this parliament, choose 'retreat' rather than 'advance'; choose 'defense' rather than 'attack'. In order to win the whole war, sometimes we must willingly lose a key battle."

After listening to Hector's advice, Magnus fell into a long silence. In his single eye, the stars seemed to be fading and illusory, as if undergoing countless deductions.

Finally, he slowly shook his head.

“I thank you for your advice, little think tank. Your ‘Yi’ is very interesting, and your philosophy is very inspiring.” His voice once again carried the pride and confidence of the Primal, “But my father is the embodiment of reason. Truth and logic are the highest laws of the universe. Lies and ignorance will ultimately have nowhere to hide before absolute wisdom.”

“I will go to Nicaea. I will use my knowledge and my eloquence to utterly shatter those unfounded fears. For an empire of light, no longer bound by superstition, I must win this debate.”

Hector's heart sank to the bottom.

He failed. All his preparations and advice ultimately failed to shake the tragic pride rooted deep in the soul of the Crimson King.

As he walked out of Magnus's Sanctuary, dejected, the massive hull of the Tower of Light began to tremble slightly, and the roar of its engines indicated that it was adjusting its course and heading at full speed toward the crossroads of destiny—Nicaea.

Just then, Ahriman appeared at the end of the corridor. He strode up to Hector, his face displaying a fanatical fervor that Hector had never seen before.

“Hector!” He grabbed Hector’s arm, his voice choked with excitement. “Tonight’s ‘discussion’ was nothing short of a miracle! The strange phenomenon on Hathor Matt’s arm completely disappeared for a full minute after he entered the ‘stillness’ state! Your ‘path’ is our true salvation!”

“The Council of Nicaea is nothing but a pointless political charade! The true fate of the Legion does not lie in the decisions of Terran bureaucrats, nor in my father’s debates! It… lies in your hands, Hector! In this ‘Path of Silence’!”

Ahriman stared at him and said, enunciating each word clearly, "We... need more. Please, teach us the true 'method of cultivation'!"

Hector stood there, feeling as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

On one side, there is Magnus, who is irreversibly heading towards the precipice of fate.

On the other side were Ahriman and his followers, who had come to regard him as their savior and had become extremely dependent on him.

The "spark" he planted failed to illuminate the path forward for the Primarch. Instead, in the hearts of another group, it burned into a raging fire that he himself could hardly control...

He was caught in the torrent of fate, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Chapter 9 Nicaea's Choice on the Eve

Ahriman's eyes, burning with hope and fervor, were like two stars so close together, almost scorching Hector's soul. His plea, "Please, teach us the true 'method of cultivation'!" struck Hector's fragile thread of "plan" like a heavy hammer.

Hector could clearly sense that the vague boundaries he had carefully constructed, those that were "only to be understood, not to be explained," and that were full of Eastern metaphysical beauty, were being shaken to the point of collapse by the other party's undisguised, Western pragmatic desires.

He originally only wanted to be a guide, to light a lamp, and let them figure things out on their own.

But now, they see him as the key to unlock the treasure vault, and even want to snatch the key from him and open the door themselves.

He remained silent for a moment, the air around him seeming to thicken with Ahriman's urgency. Hector knew that a simple "yes" or "no" would have immeasurable consequences.

Agreeing would mean he would become thoroughly and deeply involved in the internal affairs of a Primarch Legion, far exceeding the authority granted to him by Macardo, and could even be seen as a form of ideological infiltration.

Rejection could extinguish this newly ignited flame of hope, driving Ahriman and his followers to another extreme of despair.

“Master of the Achriman School,” Hector’s voice finally chose the most difficult, middle path. His tone was as calm as ever, but that calmness itself was like a bucket of cold water poured over the head of Achriman’s fanaticism, “Do you think that what I have been discussing with you so far is not the ‘true’ method of practice?”

Ahriman was taken aback, then quickly explained, “That’s not what I meant, Mr. Kane! Your philosophy is profound, but… it’s too slow! The curse of flesh mutation is like a beast lurking within each of us, ready to awaken and devour us at any moment. We… we need a more direct, more efficient method! Just like you showed my father that day, to directly ‘purify’ that power!”

“Haste makes waste.” Hector slowly shook his head, a hint of pity in his eyes. “I understand your fear, but fear is the greatest enemy of the ‘Way of Silence.’ The more eager you are to achieve results, the more your hearts will be disturbed; when the heart is disturbed, the energy is disordered; when the energy is disordered, the path is far away.”

He stood up and paced slowly around the room. Every movement he made carried a wonderful rhythm, as if he were soothing the restless energy field around him.

“Another classic text from my ancestors said: The Tao follows the natural way. This natural way does not refer to mountains, rivers, grass and trees, but to their inherent nature. A tree needs to go through spring, summer, autumn and winter to grow. You cannot force the seasons to change just because it wants to bloom in winter. Your spiritual practice is the same. Your souls have been soaked in the violent energy of the great ocean for hundreds of years. It is not something that can be done in a day to completely purify them.”

Hector stopped and turned to face Ahriman: “You pursue power, you act, that is ‘action.’ But the core of my way lies in ‘non-action.’ Forcibly applying the method of ‘non-action’ to the purpose of ‘action’ is like trying to catch the wind with a net; you will ultimately gain nothing. What you need most now is not a more advanced ‘method,’ but a more thorough ‘letting go.’”

These philosophically specious words plunged Ahriman into deeper confusion and struggle. A wizard accustomed to formulas, logic, and the exchange of power, Hector's near-idealistic theory left him bewildered. His expression shifted from eagerness to anguish, and finally, to a long, helpless sigh.

Seeing his dejected appearance, Hector knew that simply refusing them would only push them further away. He had to offer a "sweet treat," one that would keep them hopeful and guide them onto the right path.

“However…” Hector changed the subject, “Although you are far from being able to access the true method of ‘refinement,’ since you have already made some progress in ‘meditation,’ I may be able to guide you to a deeper level of mental cultivation.”

Ahriman's eyes suddenly lit up.

“I will guide you to open a ‘mind aperture’ in your own spiritual world,” Hector said solemnly. “You can think of it as a spiritual ‘anchor point’ or a small ‘purification pool.’ When you meditate, you can completely immerse your mind in this ‘mind aperture,’ which will help you stabilize your mind more effectively and passively and slowly filter the psionic radiation you are constantly exposed to. This is the limit of what I can do for you now.”

This was a decision Hector made after careful consideration. Teaching the "mind's eye" did not involve the "active operation" of true energy; it was essentially still a skill of "stillness," belonging to the category of "foundation building."

This would satisfy Ahriman and his group's desires and bring them substantial benefits, without prematurely revealing the core of their cultivation system. More importantly, it would draw them back from the pursuit of "techniques" to the cultivation of their "heart."

“The mind…” Ahriman murmured the word, a renewed light shining in his eyes. “We are willing to learn! No matter how difficult it may be!”

“That’s good.” Hector nodded. “But remember, perseverance is more important than quick progress.”

After reaching this new "agreement" with Ahriman, Hector used his true energy to guide him to sense the mysteries of the mind, and then, under the pretext that he should figure it out on his own, returned to his quiet dwelling.

As the heavy metal door closed behind him, isolating him from the outside world, the placid "mentor" mask on his face finally melted away like ice and snow. He leaned wearily against the wall and slowly slid down to the ground.

A tremendous, suffocating sense of exhaustion welled up from the depths of my soul.

He was no longer the "Regent" who commanded the country; he had returned to being the lonely soul from the 21st century—Lin Chen.

He buried his face deeply between his knees, his shoulders trembling slightly.

He recalled the tragedies that had been predetermined in the setting guides and novels.

I thought of Saint Gilles, the perfect angel whose spine was broken by Horus on the "Soul of Vengeance";

I remembered Ferrus Manus, the Lord of Steel, who had his head chopped off by his most trusted brother, Forgrim, on the Istvan 5.

I thought of countless future dark ages, where worlds would perish in despair because of the silence of emperors and the decay of empires, and billions of lives would die in ignorance.

And now, he stands at the very beginning of all this tragedy. In his hand, he holds a tiny lever that might be able to shift his fate. But this lever is so heavy that it almost suffocates him.

Can he really... do it?

Can a mortal really change the script that a group of demigods and true gods have already written?

Magnus's pride, Loka's obsession, Perturabo's resentment, Angron's pain... Could these Primarch personalities, as solid as the laws of the universe, really be resolved with a few "riddles" full of Eastern wisdom?

A deep sense of powerlessness, like icy seawater, overwhelmed him.

He even began to doubt himself. Had everything he had done only hastened the tragedy? Would the hope he had given to the wounded child evolve into a more terrifying distortion and abuse of the "way of silence" in the future?

Just as a crack was about to appear in his Dao heart, the true essence that had been nurtured for several months in his dantian automatically and accelerated its circulation.