Day 31 – Week Five
Five weeks since transmigration. Thirty-one days of systematic improvement.
I sat cross-legged in the clearing behind the forge, eyes closed, breathing in the pattern Grandmother Cho had taught me. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Each breath a cycle, each cycle moving energy through pathways I was only beginning to understand.
Ki circulation.
The theory was simple: Ki flowed through meridians like blood through veins. Natural circulation happened unconsciously, but deliberate circulation—guiding Ki through specific paths—strengthened both the energy and the pathways themselves.
The practice was anything but simple.
Breathe in. Feel the warmth gather in the lower dantian—three fingers below the navel. Hold. Guide it upward along the governing vessel, up the spine. Feel it reach the crown. Hold. Guide it down the conception vessel, down the front of the body. Back to the dantian. Complete the circuit.
I'd been attempting this for five days. The first three days, I felt nothing but frustration. Days four and five, I felt something that might have been Ki—or might have been imagination. Yesterday, for the first time, I'd completed a full circulation.
Today, I was trying for two.
The warmth gathered—definitely real, definitely Ki. I guided it upward, feeling it flow through channels that tingled with each pass. Up the spine, vertebra by vertebra. Reaching the crown—
My concentration slipped. The Ki scattered, dissipating like smoke.
I opened my eyes, frustrated. My fingers drummed against my knee—an unconscious pattern-seeking behavior I'd developed when processing failure.
"You're forcing it again," Grandmother Cho said from where she sat watching. She looked better now, fully recovered from the Ki healing she'd performed.
"Ki responds to intent, not will. You're trying to command it like you command your thoughts."
"That's the only way I know how to control things."
"Then learn a new way."
She stood and moved behind me, placing her hands on my back. Warmth flowed from her touch—her Ki, demonstrating.
"Feel how it moves. Not pushed, not pulled. Guided. Like water following a riverbed."
I felt it. Her Ki moved through my meridians effortlessly, showing the path, the rhythm, the natural flow.
"Now you try. But this time, don't think. Just feel."
Don't think.
For someone whose entire existence had been built on thinking, that was like asking a fish not to swim.
But I tried.
I closed my eyes, gathered Ki, and instead of calculating the path, I just... let it flow. Followed the sensation rather than the logic.
Up the spine. Warmth spreading, tingling, alive. To the crown. Down the front. Back to the dantian.
One circulation.
I didn't stop to celebrate—just continued. Let the flow continue.
Two circulations.
Three.
Four.
Five.
On the sixth, something changed. The Ki didn't just flow—it resonated. Each pass through the circuit strengthened it slightly, like water carving a deeper channel. I could feel my meridians expanding, adapting, becoming more efficient conduits.
This is cultivation. This is growth. Not through external training, but internal development.
Seven circulations.
Eight.
Nine.
On the tenth, my concentration finally broke. I opened my eyes, gasping, my entire body vibrating with residual energy.
"Ten circulations," Grandmother Cho said, smiling. "That's excellent progress. Most people take months to reach that point."
"How many... can you do?"
"I don't count anymore. My Ki circulates constantly, even when I'm not consciously guiding it. That's the goal—to make circulation as natural as breathing."
Constant circulation meant constant strengthening. Exponential growth over time.
"How long until I reach that level?"
"Years. Maybe decades. It depends on talent, resources, and dedication."
She sat down across from me. "But you have something most martial artists don't—analytical thinking. You can break down the process, optimize it, find efficiencies others miss."
"Can I really? Ki seems to resist logical analysis."
"Ki resists force. But analysis isn't force—it's understanding. And understanding can be very powerful."
She handed me a small, weathered book.
"Iron Scripture Temple: Foundation Manual," the cover read.
"Your sect," I said. "You've never mentioned which one."
"Because I left that life behind. But you're going to enter it, whether at an academy or through independent cultivation. You should know the basics."
Her expression grew serious.
"But Seo-yun, remember—cultivation isn't just about power. It's about balance. Mind, body, and spirit working in harmony. If you focus only on strength, you'll become like Wei Liang. Powerful but hollow."
"I understand."
"Do you? Because I've watched you these past weeks. You approach everything like a problem to solve. That's useful, but it's also limiting. Some things can't be solved—only experienced."
I thought about Min-ji's smile. About the warmth in my chest when she laughed. About the satisfaction of helping Hana. About the strange sense of belonging here.
"I'm learning," I said. "It's slow. But I'm learning."
"Good." She stood. "Now, physical training. Time to see how much stronger you've gotten."
Physical Training
I'd gotten stronger. Not dramatically, but measurably.
Yoon had me demonstrate basic forms. Movements that had been shaky were now stable. Strikes that had been weak now had force behind them. My stance, which I'd struggled to hold for five minutes, I could now maintain for twenty.
"Your foundation is solidifying," Yoon said. "The constant work while helping Kang built strength you didn't notice."
"Kang's not happy about it," I said. "He keeps glaring at me."
"Let him glare. He's lucky to be alive."
Yoon tossed me a practice sword. "Now, let's see your sword work."
We sparred—if it could be called that. Yoon moved at maybe thirty percent speed, and I still struggled to keep up. But I was learning. Distance. Timing. Reading intent.
"Your problem," Yoon said after disarming me for the fifth time, "is that you think too much during a fight. You analyze every move. By the time you decide, the moment's gone."
"How do I stop thinking?"
"You don't. You think faster. Or better yet, you train until thinking becomes unnecessary. Your body learns to respond without conscious thought."
"Muscle memory."
"Exactly. But that takes thousands of repetitions."
So we drilled. Basic cuts, basic blocks, basic footwork. Over and over until my arms burned and my mind went quiet.
By the end, I blocked one of Yoon's strikes without thinking.
Progress.
"Good session," Yoon said. "In another month, you might actually be dangerous."
"Only might?"
He laughed. "Don't get cocky. Wei Liang could kill you with one hand tied behind his back."
"What about two?"
"Then maybe." His tone darkened. "Han sent word. The Blood Moon Cult is regrouping. They'll be back."
"When?"
"Unknown. But they're coming. The militia's improving—thirty regulars now, competent enough to matter."
I nodded. The variables were multiplying. But so were our capabilities.
"I'll be ready," I said.
"I know you will." He clapped my shoulder. "Go rest."
Day 31 – Evening
Min-ji was in the clearing, staff in hand, practicing forms. Fluid. Confident. Beautiful.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, breathless.
"Three minutes, forty-seven seconds. Your hip rotation is within five degrees of optimal."
She laughed. "You're so weird. Normal people would just say, 'you look good.'"
"You look good."
"That doesn't count when I have to tell you to say it." She sat on a fallen log, patting the spot beside her. "Come sit. We need to talk."
I sat. We need to talk—an ominous phrase.
"About what?"
"About us. About what happens next." Her tone was serious. "You're planning to go to the academy. The Blood Moon Cult is coming. Everything's changing."
"Change is inevitable. Adaptation is necessary."
She groaned. "See? You talk like you're solving a problem, not talking about us." She took my hand. "Seo-yun, I care about you. But sometimes I can't tell if you care, or if I'm just part of your plan."
The words hit hard. Because she was right.
"I don't know how to explain what I feel," I said slowly. "When I'm with you, my heart rate increases. My body temperature rises. I experience a sensation that's... pleasant. And when you're in danger, I act irrationally—prioritizing you over logic."
She smiled faintly. "That's the most unromantic romantic confession I've ever heard."
"Is that bad?"
"No. It's honest. And I'd rather have that." She squeezed my hand. "Just tell me—are you with me because you want to be, or because it's strategic?"
"Both," I admitted. "You make me stronger. You stabilize me. That's strategy. But I also just... like being near you. I like your laugh. The way you explain people. That's not logic. That's want."
"Want," she repeated softly. "That's a good word."
"I want you," I said simply. "Not because it's optimal. Just because I do."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "I want you too. Even if you're weird and analytical."
We sat together, watching the sun set through the trees. My arm went around her shoulders—not calculated, just right.
This is what humans call contentment, I thought. The feeling of being exactly where you should be.
I was learning to be human. One emotion at a time.
END CHAPTER 13