The otter didn’t show up for lunch, which was weird. She didn’t seem to be the type to miss a free meal.

“These are for you,” I said, as I set a couple of catfish filets by the pool. When she still didn’t appear, I shrugged and went to work.

I had six arrow shafts with fire-hardened tips ready for fletching, but now that I'd some sinew, I decided to upgrade immediately to flint arrowheads. I had enough feathers for five arrows, so I’d make six, the extra shaft a replacement in case I needed one.

I started by preparing the sinew, since it’d need a day to dry out.

I began by slicing the back of the calf’s legs and peeling the skin to expose the white membrane underneath. Slicing through the membrane further exposed the milky white tendons inside. I cut the tendons free and laid them in the sun to dry.

Next, I foraged for material for the new arrows, wood for the shafts and flint for the arrowheads. I wandered farther afield this time, since I’d learned a little about what to look for and how to prepare the wood. I also prepared the feathers, splitting them down the shaft. The orange ones were as sturdy as expected, and I had to lean into them with the dagger.

Knapping the flint arrowheads was harder than I thought it’d be. Like, really hard. And for the first time, I was glad to have a kid’s body and the nimble fingers that came with it. Even so, I scraped and cut my hands to heck. I only finished three before running out of daylight and patience.

The catfish filets still sat by the edge of the pool. Not willing to eat them myself after they’d been sitting in the sun all afternoon, I tossed them out. I bathed in the pool, thinking that would draw the otter out, but that didn’t work either. She must be either busy or away.

There was a fire for company, and I lay back to look at the stars. Feeling sore, banged up, and mentally exhausted, it occured to me that I wasn’t taking good care of myself. Nor was I taking advantage of the System as I should be. Yes, I had to deal with my immediate needs, but there were steps I could be taking to improve my future. I had an adult mind in a child’s body, a lifetime of knowledge, experience, and discipline. Let’s harness that, shall we?

I’d already seen proof that my Attributes and Skills rose under the right circumstances. Well, I wasn’t about to go hunting for more mushrooms, but there were other practices that people have used for generations to train their physical, mental, and spiritual selves. I’d even practiced a few myself. They were watered down versions meant for modern lifestyles, but yoga, qigong, and meditation had deep, deep roots in the ancient world.

What would happen if I spent a month training in these practices? That was an interesting question, a very interesting question, and one worth finding an answer for.

###

The next morning, I wiped away the dew gathered on the tendons and moved them into the sun to speed up the drying process. I went fishing, started a fire, and ate my breakfast, all without the otter. A touch of worry crept into my thoughts. My request to learn magic might’ve been more serious than I imagined. I set aside one of the perches for her, just in case.

The air was cool, and a pleasant breeze blew through the glen. Perfect for starting my new morning regimen. I began with fifteen minutes of stretching and limbering, getting my body ready. That was followed by forty-five minutes of physical resistance training: push ups, sit ups, squats, pull ups, wall sits, and lunges.

I discovered that I was about as strong as my son Daniel when he was thirteen. And while I was breathing hard by the end, I still had fuel in my engine for more. Was this the famed ability of children to play all day? I grinned, as I remembered the kids’ adventures in the woods. During the summers, they disappeared the whole day long, only to show up just as Helen and I were sitting down for dinner. It was magical how they suddenly appeared at the backdoor, dirty as a pig’s wallow and hungry as ghosts.

Next came thirty minutes of yoga. The studio near my house taught a blend of Vinyasa and Yin styles of yoga, which they imaginatively named Yinyasa. The teachers were a really sweet couple named Albert and Karmia. I did some marketing for them in exchange for a discount on classes, but nothing I said changed their minds about the name.

While I wasn’t a fan of the name, the combination of active and soft poses really opened up the tight places in my old (aging) body. My new (young) body didn’t have any of those troubles. My muscles felt elastic, and there were no hitches or aches, no groans or gnarly knots of stress to unwind. I almost cried from the sheer pleasure of moving without pain.

It was an easy transition from yoga to thirty minutes of Baduanjin-style qigong.

There was a debate at the yoga studio about whether Baduanjin was really qigong. I didn’t know enough about the history to participate in the discussion, but I followed the conversation closely. History was one of my hobbies. (I had quite a few as a widower and empty nester.)

The argument on one side was that the movements in Baduanjin were closer to Shaolin martial arts than Taoist qigong. They were stretches and preparation for martial arts practice and nothing more. They didn’t need qi in order to be effective for what they were designed to do.

The other side, which included Karmia, the teacher, argued that “Yi leads Qi.” In other words, the mind (Yi) guided the flow of internal energies (Qi). And while the movements were perfectly fine when performed plainly as physical exercise, they became real qigong when yoked to an alert and discerning mind.

Karmia was always asking us to imagine we were surgeons performing surgery. Or riding a motorcycle along a cliff road in the fog. Or jumping from river stone to river stone with a baby in our arms. We used whatever imagery we needed to help us focus. And that focus was used to direct the qi where it needed to go.

Neither side was convinced by the other, but that was okay. We all usually ended up at the pub afterwards.

By this point, I had two observations about my new routine. The first was the point about stamina and ease of movement, but the second… the second was really exciting.

I felt the qi moving in my body, both during the yoga and the qigong. The warmth I felt yesterday was present again and moved as I directed it. Sure, I’d felt qi before in my old life, but not as strongly and a part of me always wondered if it was just wishful thinking. But not on this world. The sensations were real and present, sliding through the meridians with ease.

Honestly, I felt like I was cheating. Yi leads qi, indeed.

Afterwards, I sat in meditation for sixty minutes. The whole time, the energy flowed through my body in waves. Each time a wave crested, my muscles, ligaments, and bones absorbed the extra qi. My body felt nourished. No, it was more than that. My mind was too, and there was even a tautness to my spirit. The three aspects of my being felt aligned. It was giddy and intoxicating, even better than a runner’s high.

My original plan was to spend three hours every morning on this routine, then spend the middle of the day on projects and survival needs, finishing in the evening with Skill practice and experimentation. I expected the schedule to make for a long and grueling day, but now I wasn’t so sure.

I wasn’t afraid of work. I spent my youth in hard, physical labor doing construction, carpentry, set design, and working as a production assistant. I knew I had the discipline. I thought all I needed was to rebuild the endurance. But maybe not, not if training was this enjoyable.

I sat for a while to luxuriate in the qi still thrumming through me. But then I hopped up, kicking myself. This mental state was precious. My mind was alert, relaxed, present--it was the perfect combination for making things. I ran over to where I knapped the flint arrowheads yesterday and worked on the last three.

It was still challenging, but the experience was easier. I didn’t cut myself as much, and the finished arrowheads were more sharply made. I nodded to myself. Whatever I practiced after the morning routine would strongly benefit from its afterglow.

###

There was fish again for lunch, a bass this time, and I boiled a handful of beans in the shallow bowl to go with it. The flavor was similar to broad or fava beans, but more earthy and intense. I wasn’t Poisoned after eating a couple, so I finished the rest and had a plum for dessert.

The beans were a big deal actually. I was worried about being able to keep food long term (like over the winter), and dried beans could help fill the gap.

After lunch, I used the fire to make up a new batch of pine pitch. I’d need it for the fletching.

The tendons were hard and translucent, the color a filmy yellow. Perfect. I took them over to a flat section of stone and used a rounded rock to pound them out. As I hammered the sinew, fluffy white fibers separated from them. The fibers looked like the ones in the videos I’d seen, so I knew I was on the right track. I pulled the tendons apart till the sinew was completely separated into fibers.

I brought together the arrow shafts, pitch, feather vanes, and sinew fibers. I smeared pitch along a shaft and attached three vanes. Once the pitch dried, I popped one of the fibers into my mouth and chewed it. Just a bit. I didn’t want the glue to come out of the sinew. When I felt it soften, I wound the sinew around the vanes. I didn’t need to tie it off, because the sinew stuck to itself.

I put the arrow in the sun and waited for the sinew to dry. I wanted to see how the first arrow turned out before starting on the rest, but there was no need. The combination of pitch and sinew did the trick. The fletching was firmly attached.

Once all the arrow shafts were fletched, I notched the tips and smeared the gaps with pitch. The flint arrowheads were then wedged inside and lashed into place with sinew. Finally, I carved a nock into the base of each arrow, a place where it would meet the bowstring.

It was early afternoon by the time I finished, but the fruits of my labor were ready: a bow and five arrows tipped with flint arrowheads.