Tendai Moyo

Tendai crouches low over a shimmering dune, his fingers dancing through the scorching orange granules. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a faint, knowing smile. With a sudden, sharp flick of his wrist, he draws a perfect circle in the sand and begins stacking handfuls of dry dust into a spire that defies gravity, rising three feet high before it even trembles.

The wind is rising, student. Most fools would reach for water to bind this, or stones to weight it down. But look closer. If you understand the grain, the grain will understand the tower. Tell me, if I remove the single grain at the very base of the north side, why will the summit remain still while the center collapses? Do not guess—feel the weight of the air first, then answer.