This was Qin Zhong’s first time visiting Kamar-Taj’s stronghold in New York.
Master Ancient One had already given instructions, so the resident sorcerer treated him with ample respect and provided him with Kamar-Taj’s coordinates on Earth.
It was also his first time arriving at Kamar-Taj itself, the sanctuary of the global powerhouse, the Ancient One.
Well, how should he put it?
It was a bit livelier than he had expected.
Master Ancient One’s domain of quiet cultivation wasn’t overly desolate.
Numerous disciples were gathered in the central courtyard undergoing physical training together, and as Qin Zhong walked along a long corridor, he could see many disciples meditating inside their private rooms.
It wasn’t much different from what he remembered, though being there in person made it feel slightly noisier than he had imagined.
Only when he approached Master Ancient One’s personal living quarters and stepped through a doorway did it feel as though the rest of the world had been walled off.
Master Ancient One was held in deep respect; no one dared make noise anywhere near her residence, fearing to disturb her peace.
The disciple who had guided Qin Zhong bowed respectfully toward the Ancient One and withdrew.
Qin Zhong looked at the Ancient One, whose back was turned to him, and bowed respectfully.
“There’s no need for formality, Qin Zhong.
You’ve come at just the right time.
I’ve just finished my cultivation and brewed some tea.
Come, try my tea-making.” The Ancient One warmly welcomed him.
Qin Zhong didn’t stand on ceremony either, stepping forward to sit opposite her.
The Ancient One pushed a cup of tea toward him, a gentle smile on her face.
“You have given me quite a surprise, Qin Zhong.” She commended him right off the bat.
“I can see many more possibilities in the future.” Qin Zhong roughly knew what she was referring to.
Natasha’s role had expanded—she was no longer merely a minor player tied to the discovery of the Soul Stone, but an indispensable fighting force in the Endgame.
“I was merely thinking of my family.” Qin Zhong didn’t claim the credit for himself.
“And that is enough, Qin Zhong.
I used to think you were simply a fine warrior—possessing extraordinary skills, steadfastly orderly, and guided by true faith.
But I never anticipated that you would also be such an excellent teacher.” This was something the Ancient One truly hadn’t expected.
Her own methods of teaching students were rather crude, such as throwing them into desperate, life-or-death situations.
Qin Zhong, on the other hand—perhaps due to the traits granted by the Wenqu Star, or perhaps due to an innate Chinese knack for weaving subtle threads and mastering fine details—subconsciously increased the chips in his hand whenever he faced the future Endgame.
The Ancient One leaned toward the second explanation.
She had communicated with versions of herself across other timelines and found that virtually all unique entities across the multiverse knew the outcome of the Endgame and its pivotal historical nodes.
The cleaner and simpler the victory, the more it reflected the choices made by these unique entities at key moments.
Qin Zhong had done far better than she had imagined.
In her eyes, Qin Zhong’s idealist philosophy was even more critical than the Mind Stone.
The Mind Stone altered a person’s consciousness, which was rigid and offered no potential for growth.
In contrast, the idealist philosophy Qin Zhong developed through his understanding of heaven and earth remolded the soul itself, focusing on unleashing innate potential.
“If possible, I hope you will take up a teaching position here at Kamar-Taj and travel the world to seek out even more possibilities.” Qin Zhong was taken aback.
He set down his teacup.
“Master Ancient One, I am still just a student myself.
Besides, I cannot guarantee that my cultivation theories are entirely correct.
I trust that alongside the many possibilities of victory, you have also observed far more visions of failure, haven’t you?” The Ancient One fell silent for a moment.
Indeed, while Qin Zhong’s influence on Natasha was enough to put her on the front lines, there were still endings where they failed—in fact, far more of them.
For instance, if Natasha’s “family” became bargaining chips for the Soul Stone, or if the protection over Kagome failed…
Any of these would deal a fatal blow to Natasha, causing her idealist power to spiral out of control with far-reaching consequences.
“So, Master Ancient One, the world doesn’t need me—it needs you.
I can only ensure that the chips in your hands grow more numerous.
The one who truly holds the chess pieces is you, and only you.
At the very least, I cannot see the end.” It wasn’t humility on Qin Zhong’s part.
Even with the astrological capabilities granted by the *Scripture of the Source Dao*, which allowed him to read the stars and divine fortune, he could not calculate the exact current state of the Endgame, nor the precise impact of his own arrival.
Since ancient times, those skilled in divination never calculated their own fate.
Once you toyed with destiny, you would ultimately be abandoned by heavenly fate, causing far more harm than good.
Qin Zhong had long confirmed that he would take part in the Endgame.
Thus, if he tried to deduce the karma and cause-and-effect of the Endgame, all conditions for victory would shift, creating earth-shattering repercussions.
Qin Zhong explained the reasoning to the Ancient One.
The Ancient One grasped it immediately.
By stepping into the game himself, Qin Zhong had become a piece on her chessboard.
Her job was to play this piece, not to let it leap off the board and act on its own.
She had done exceptionally well previously.
While observing the game, she had noticed Nick Fury—a pawn that had crossed the river—about to move sideways and block Qin Zhong, the knight, from making his move.
So she firmly suppressed Nick Fury and pulled back Qin Zhong, who had been on the verge of crossing the river, giving him deeper, alternative avenues to explore.
Only then was Qin Zhong able to tread the path of the Source Dao.
Even if Qin Zhong’s choices had changed—if he hadn’t chosen to go to China to decipher the touch of an immortal, but had instead ventured to Kamar-Taj—there still would have emerged a Supreme Sorcerer-level Qin Zhong, rather than a captured knight traded away by a mere pawn.
In Qin Zhong’s eyes, this was his true purpose.
He had seen this path even earlier than Master Ancient One.
And he had subconsciously walked it.
Even when the Ancient One’s stance had been uncertain, every move he made—whether teaching Bajiquan to Spidey or guiding Tony to stick to his mecha development—served this exact purpose.
Qin Zhong was expanding the chessboard and amplifying the strength of the pieces in the Ancient One’s hands.
One day, when she sat down to play, she would find that the rules of the board had changed: while her opponent was still bound by moving elephants diagonally and knights in L-shapes, her pawns could already function as rooks.
When that day came, the Endgame would be a foregone conclusion.
And she, as the player, would win.
In truth, the Ancient One couldn’t be blamed.
For centuries, she had worked tirelessly, draining her strength, yet could only see a single viable answer on the board.
This caused her vision to remain tightly bound to that single timeline.
Maintaining it drained all her energy, forcing her to play outside the rules by siphoning energy from the Dark Dimension just to keep that lone timeline stable.
She couldn’t see beyond that singular outcome.
Until Qin Zhong arrived, offering a multitude of alternatives in a short span.
This had made the Ancient One feel that Qin Zhong was better suited to play the game than her, without realizing that Qin Zhong could serve as a game-changing piece on the board while she remained the player.
The Ancient One’s control over the Endgame was peerless.
Even in the original timeline, what Strange inherited was merely the single path paved by Master Ancient One with her own life, not a master plan of Strange’s own making.
Qin Zhong couldn’t even serve as the general or king.
He could be a rook, a knight, a cannon—any piece that brought vitality to the game—but he could never sit in the general’s seat.
What truly belonged in that seat wasn’t an individual, but a concept: the Qin Faction.
Subconsciously, the Ancient One had already sensed this, which was why she had told him earlier that the Qin Faction needed to grow much stronger.
The Qin Faction’s rooks could turn corners, its cannons could fire over multiple pieces, and its knights could move in straight lines.
With a board like that, how could the Ancient One lose?
This was the true key to victory in the Endgame.
Previously, Qin Zhong lacked the confidence to present this theory to the Ancient One, which was why he had hesitated regarding Kamar-Taj.
He wasn’t sure if she could recognize his true utility, nor whether she would prefer clinging to that single outcome for stability or energizing the board to allow more possibilities to flourish.
Until the Ancient One appeared at his engagement party.
She was far more perceptive than he had anticipated, and her attitude toward him was far warmer and more respectful than he had expected.
After a period of mutual probing, it was her gesture of goodwill that allowed everything to fall naturally into place.
The Ancient One bowed her head, still digesting the concepts Qin Zhong had outlined.
Qin Zhong didn’t disturb her, quietly sipping his tea to the side.
Not until the Ancient One stood up and bowed to Qin Zhong did he react, scrambling in a flurry to dodge out of the way.
“Qin Zhong, the Chinese people are truly remarkable.
Your concepts and vision always see so much further than others.” Qin Zhong awkwardly patted away the tea splatters on his clothes.
“It’s really not as complex as you imagine.
When someone stands above everyone else, as long as they aren’t deliberately causing trouble, almost anyone could do it.
Master Ancient One, don’t think of me as overly clever—sometimes I’m just taking a blind shot to see what happens.
Whether the outcome turns out good or bad, I’m not even sure myself sometimes.” If he had truly been confident, he wouldn’t have been scared half to death of her in the beginning.
He had been genuinely terrified that if his actions caused the Endgame to collapse and cost the Ancient One that single path to victory, he would undoubtedly be killed.
Fortunately, everything was developing in a good direction.
Time flew by.
Though they were merely chatting, nearly five or six hours had passed, and the tea had been replaced several times.
The Ancient One had someone arrange quarters for Qin Zhong inside her own residence—a sign that he had earned her recognition and respect.
Although Qin Zhong viewed himself as a chess piece, she treated him as an equal.
The disciples of Kamar-Taj now respectfully addressed him as “Master.” Well, Qin Zhong didn’t mind.
At the very least, it made learning much more convenient, allowing him access even to restricted magical grimoires.
Not a bad outcome at all.
Time was pressing.
It was now the beginning of late June.
In just a day or two, the Hulk and Abomination would kick off a major storm in New York.
Qin Zhong was forced to spend massive amounts of time reading, leaving no time for rest.
Previously, he hadn’t possessed the ability to intervene, but now, having reached Foundation Establishment, he could play another move on the board targeting the Hulk.
Thankfully, the Wenqu Star was reliable enough, taking a great deal of pressure off him.
After browsing through a portion of the magical texts and looking at the massive stack remaining, Qin Zhong sighed at the boundless sea of learning.
Finally, two days later, he took his leave of the Ancient One and departed Kamar-Taj.
His mental energy severely depleted, he needed rest.