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“Anything intelligent always looks for its source—it’s the oldest law of the universe.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“The Mesmerizer accepts the challenge. He will prove even such monks as him can be tainted. When that man enters the dark world, he will arrange a blazing orchestra, a homecoming gift. And he will arrange it with the thing the Monk has sent him—the piano.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Scan? Or not scan? The Monk wonders, but soon, he decides to follow the instruction.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“The Monk takes the key and inserts it into the lock carefully, hoping neither the key nor the lock will break. Of course, he does the methodical twists and turns with mechanical precision, winning through the rust until he opens the almost broken door like the gentle monk he is. The door shrieks.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Don’t bother, the Monk—Yuan—decides with a sigh. He swore he wouldn’t get carried away, no matter how much others tried.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“And, no. He’s not blushing. What monk would blush, witnessing something so human, something as normal as eating or shitting?”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“What do you believe, Ra? I’ll believe whatever you say.â€� The Monk turns at her, his complete attention now at her eyes.

Mee-Hae doesn’t reply for a long time. A High Grade’s words have weight; she must now think through what leaves her lips.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“He tried to make me work. With him,â€� he says truthfully, just as a war hero, the owner of a strong voice, should.

“You are wrong, Yuan,� Mee-Hae says, half-worried and half-angry, her voice suddenly quivering. “He wanted to make you work. With or without him.�

“I have to stop him,� the Monk says.

“Am I the bait?”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Mastering emotions starts with observation,â€� their master used to say.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Their master, and not his.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Something is different today. Blood and a whimper.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“He frowns. How unusual for a monk to frown or to think needlessly! Yuan shields his mind. His eyes closed in deep meditation. A ninety-nine-year-old monk who mastered time and desires shouldn’t let little thoughts infect his inner quiet.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Mastering time isn’t about stopping time, rather, slowing down its effects. Though in the last decade, he has let his dark wavy hair fade and wrinkles grow near his eyes. Even a line or two is visible on his forehead. He sits on a cliff now. His toned torso half-covered in a dark, plain shawl. His chest swells in flawless, mathematical rhythm when he breathes.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Mastering time isn’t about stopping time, rather, slowing down its effects.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Yuan smiles. Subtle stirs in the prana field eke from the forest, spreading, constantly tapping his ground. At first, they’re few, then more, but not countless. Nothing around him is countless, not while he is in focus. The stirs, caused by light footsteps, grow stronger.
Something is different today: blood and a whimper.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Yuan opens his eyes. White rabbits wandering all around, poking him, touching him, rubbing their noses at his feet, or merely exploring the thick grass, ignoring his presence. As if showing their appearance alone is enough of a favor. Yuan sees the tiniest rabbit struggling to reach him. One of its legs wounded, and a dark rotten feather sticking to its body. The feather smells of death. There must be a dead bird somewhere.
Dead bird! Why didn’t he smell it earlier? Yuan, removing the feather, stretches his hand towards the rabbit. It hops on, sensing the burst of healing energy. All living creatures always sense what heals their woe—a code in their subconscious.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“... You cannot force adventure on everyone, Ruem. You can’t implant wisdom.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Yuan frowns. Nothing should interrupt a Sufi Raag. His frown disappears soon after. A monk must never lose control over his emotions. Not even the deaths of thirty-seven seemingly-pet, rare animals can make him lose it.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“You keep an ancient lock with a scanner while the balcony is open?â€� he asks.

“Who will steal from an archeologist who gets no gold and camps temporarily in a forest?� Mee-Hae replies.

“Ten years doesn’t sound temporary.�

“Ten years is a blink for a seventy-year-old High Grade,â€� Mee-Hae says. “But you’re avoiding my question, Yagmur. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“It’s not him,â€� the Monk says in a determined voice.

“Because he never hides knowledge?�

“Because he’s busy seeking knowledge,� the Monk says.

“Oh, yes, busy was the word. Always.â€� Mee-Hae nods. “I remember how much scared he was of not having enough time for all he wanted to do, for all he wanted to â€� achieve.â€� After several more moments of gazing at nothing in particular into the forest, she suddenly faces the Monk. “I want answers, Yuan,â€� she says.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Focusing his mind, he searches for any sign of death in the forest. But nothing. Prana diminishes with death. He won’t know if the dead bird is far away.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“That’s when he finds them.
Birds. Mammals. Reptiles.
That one was George—a Cheetah with the most flaming fur.
That one was Gogy—a gorilla with the clearest pair of eyes.
That one was Ms. Mimbo—a hybrid of Macao and African Grey Parrot. And the one near the stone was � well, the Monk goes through around three dozen names. It took fifty years of careful watch to make sure they don’t go extinct. If you live long enough, you might, as well, end up befriending every life your neighboring forest holds. And if you are a war hero, you might even get professionals from the Wildlife Conservation Board to help you during their crossbreeding process.
But they’re all dead.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Yuan hears the animals hundreds of meters away—the ones with hooves running while the pawed ones hunt them. He also hears the birds chirping, the leaves rustling, the waterfall roaring, and the wind speaking. Yes, speaking. Not every High-Grade voices the wind or hears it speak. But he does.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Removing the thought about the rotten feather, for now, Yuan calms his core, inhaling prana—the source energy from air. The animal’s wound healing. All the rabbits turn their necks now, watching him. At last, he deserves attention. They run to the Monk; jumping; climbing along the layered folds of his dark shawl; settling on his lap, thighs, and shoulders; competing with one another for the healing energy; seeking a share of the purity coming from the highest possible evolution in the universe. A monk’s purity procured through strict abstention won’t stain. Even a dead bird’s foul feather can’t tinge it.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“The cold water beats the toned muscles beneath his tanned skin. He senses his energy, the prana, vibrating, looking for a release, either as a subconscious beast or as a conscious creator.
Prana heals.
Prana kills.
Prana helps you evolve.
The twinge of guilt comes. It’s hard not to be glad that the Apocalypse happened. Or they never could’ve found the highest possibilities for humans.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Privilege exists not to be stored in a locker,â€� Yuan says.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Privilege exists not to be stored in a locker.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Late, as usual,â€� the Mesmerizer greets. “Were you meditating at every crossroad, Monk?â€� His eyes hidden beneath his hat.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Monday night is actually Tuesday evening in the Arabic calendar since Arabic day begins with sunset. ‘The secrets of Tuesday’s darkness, coinciding with stone hard and deceased animals hurled at a human territory …â€� The words he read decades ago now bloom in his memory. It was in a book from Ruem’s collection. How can he remember it so clearly?

Why does he remember it? Why now?”
― Misba, The High Auction

“He senses his energy, the prana, vibrating, looking for a release, either as a subconscious beast or as a conscious creator.”
― Misba, The High Auction