THREE YEARS FOR NOTHING

Misunderstandings 2

Thaddeus set down the photograph he’d been holding—his mother on their front steps, smiling at the camera. “On what grounds?”

“You scammed one hundred million dollars from my daughter today.” Marcus moved closer, his men flanking him. “You took advantage of a medical emergency to extract money from my family.”

“I didn’t deceive anyone,” Thaddeus said calmly. “Your father offered payment for services rendered. I accepted after he insisted multiple times. There’s no fraud in that.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “You’re a con artist who happened to be in the right place at the right time, and you saw an opportunity—”

“You’re practicing the Iron Mountain technique,” Thaddeus interrupted, his tone conversational. “Modified version, probably taught to you by a military instructor about fifteen years ago.”

Marcus froze. “What?”

“It’s incompatible with your constitution.” Thaddeus stood, dusting off his hands. “You’re naturally water-aligned, but the technique forces your qi into earth patterns. It’s been causing damage to your meridians for years, though you haven’t noticed yet because the symptoms are subtle.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Marcus said, but his voice had lost some of its certainty. “My body is fine. I train every day—”

“You get sharp pains in your lower back when you pivot to the left during combat forms. Your right shoulder locks up if you maintain a guard position for more than thirty seconds. And you’ve been having trouble sleeping for the past six months because your qi circulation is disrupted.” Thaddeus’s eyes were steady. “Am I wrong?”

Marcus stared at him. Every single symptom was accurate—things he’d attributed to age or minor training injuries, nothing his personal physicians had ever flagged as concerning. “How did you—”

“Raise your right arm above your head, then rotate your torso clockwise while keeping your feet planted.”

Marcus did it before he could think better of it. Pain lanced through his shoulder and down his spine, sharp enough that he gasped. He’d done that exact movement a thousand times in training without issue, but now it felt like someone was driving needles into his back.

“That’s the damage accumulating,” Thaddeus said quietly. “Another year of practice without correction and you’ll rupture something important. Maybe permanently.”

Marcus lowered his arm slowly, his mind reeling. No one had ever diagnosed this. His doctors ran tests constantly, he was too valuable to the military to take chances with his health. But this stranger had identified a hidden problem with nothing but observation and a few questions.

His phone rang. Vivienne’s name flashed on the screen.

“Father, wait, don’t confront him. We were wrong about him.”

Marcus listened as his daughter explained what she’d discovered about the medication, the way their grandfather hadn’t taken a single dose, the realization that Thaddeus had actually cured him. By the time she finished, Marcus felt embarrassment settling over him like a heavy cloak.

He ended the call and looked at Thaddeus with new eyes. “I apologize. My daughter and I… we misunderstood the situation.”

“It happens.”

“The damage you mentioned, can it be corrected?”

Thaddeus nodded. “Stop practicing the Iron Mountain technique immediately. Switch to the Flowing River form instead, it matches your natural constitution. Practice it every morning for three months and the damage will heal.” 

Marcus’s breath caught. He’d been stuck at the second level for eight years—a plateau that most martial artists never escaped. The second level alone was rare enough that it had contributed to his military success. But the third level? There wasn’t a single active general at the third level in the entire armed forces. Reaching it would make him invaluable, would open doors for his family’s influence that had been closed for generations.

“You can really help me achieve that?”

“If you follow the instructions, yes.”

Marcus looked around the modest house, taking in the worn furniture and the careful way Thaddeus was handling the old photographs. “This is your home?”

“My parents’ home. I’m sorting through their belongings before I have it renovated.”

“Let me gift you a villa as thanks,” Marcus said immediately. “We own several properties throughout the city. You could have your pick—”

“I have a place to live,” Thaddeus said. “But thank you.”

“Then at least let me send workers to handle the renovation. Professional contractors, the best in the city. Whatever you need.”

Thaddeus considered this, then nodded. “Alright. But I want it restored to how it was when my parents were alive. No luxury upgrades, no modern redesigns. Just… bring it back to what it was.” His voice softened. “It’s the last memory I have of them.”