Under the moonlight, a blood-winged hawk was flying.
The hawk, with crimson feathers, swept across a vast estate, circling above the central pavilion.
Before the hawk’s low cry had even faded, a window in the pavilion opened.
The crimson hawk, as if it had been waiting for the signal, flew straight through the window.
A middle-aged man in fine silk sleepwear untied the message capsule fastened to the hawk’s leg as it perched on a stand.
The ring on his finger gleamed with the emblem of a blazing flame.
“Husband, what news is it?”
A middle-aged woman seated on a luxurious bed embroidered with silk asked anxiously.
“It’s both good news... and bad.”
The man—called husband—walked toward the candlelight and continued speaking.
“The Divine Lady has finally awakened from the Spirit Seal.”
The woman’s eyes widened.
“Then... she’ll come for Jeong-a?”
The man in silk nodded slowly.
“It’s the child’s fate. We cannot change it.”
Bringing the letter to the candle flame, the man said,
“It won’t be right away. Steady your heart while there’s still time.”
As the paper ignited and burned brightly, its flickering light reflected in the woman’s pale blue eyes.
Having just devoured a chunk of meat, the crimson hawk let out a low cry.
As the man gently stroked its red feathers, the hawk pushed off the perch.
It soared back out the window, heading straight toward the moon.
The man stood by the window, silently watching the moon devour the hawk’s silhouette.
Daoist Hyehae, too, was standing in the courtyard, gazing at the moon.
Now that the full moon had passed, it was beginning to wane—and yet, looking at it reminded him too much of Daoist Hyeonin, and a heavy weight filled his chest.
Once, Hyeonin had been the most powerful among them in Daoist virtue.
“I thought he’d become a full moon that would light up the world...”
That’s when Kwak Yeon quietly approached and stood behind him.
“Are you really going to let Daoist Hyeonin leave?”
“Daoist Cheongmu overheard the two of you speaking... and told me.”
Daoist Hyehae sighed inwardly.
Cheongmu was a child incapable of keeping secrets. And his ears were sharp, too.
He could only blame his own careless speech.
“The Dao exists in all things. There’s no need to bind someone to Three Spirits Peak. But why are you asking?”
“Shouldn’t we preserve the Daoist principles that Daoist Hyeonin has attained?”
“A disciple who walks away from the mountain of his own accord is not welcomed back.”
“It’s the rule. Just as a broken ladle cannot hold water, Spiritual Energy that is tainted by the mundane world becomes a shattered vessel.”
“Why does Spiritual Energy become a shattered vessel when exposed to the mundane world?”
Daoist Hyehae turned to look at Kwak Yeon.
In his shining eyes, there was a clarity.
They reminded him of the way Daoist Hyeonin had once looked at him—when they first met.
“Elder brother, what is Spiritual Energy?”
For a moment, it felt like he had traveled twenty years back in time.
“Spiritual Energy is the force that transcends habit. The actions we repeat daily define what kind of person we become. But if we can rise above those repetitive patterns—those habits—then perhaps we can reach the realm of the Immortals. That’s why we call it Spiritual Energy—because it is cultivated through that refinement.”
“It’s a difficult idea. Let me put it another way. Imagine a butterfly with a long string tied to its waist—and at the end of that string hangs a weight. At first, the butterfly can still fly freely. But over time, spider webs, mud, and other filth cling to that weight, making it heavier. Eventually, it becomes so heavy the butterfly can no longer fly. Then it crashes.”
“Oh! The butterfly is a person’s life—and the filth on the weight is habit.”
At Kwak Yeon’s interpretation, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Daoist Hyehae’s lips.
“But in the end, don’t all people die? Even if we discard our habits as much as possible, we can’t fly forever.”
“Do you wish to live forever?”
He had thought about how nice it might be to live a long life.
“I’m not sure. What about you, Daoist Hyehae?”
“I don’t wish for that.”
“But isn’t that why you cultivate the Immortal Path?”
“If I’d given up on living, why would the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign have given wings to the butterfly?”
“If the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign gave people both hearts and reason, then isn’t it only natural to refine them?”
Only now did Kwak Yeon begin to understand—faintly—what Spiritual Energy was, and what the Daoist Hermit Lineage was aiming for.
And that made him even more curious.
“If I accumulate enough Spiritual Energy... will I really become an Immortal?”
Kwak Yeon focused intently on that choice of words—perhaps. That wasn’t a statement of certainty—it was a supposition.
“Are you disappointed?”
“Our Three Spirits Palace does not pursue transcendence for its own sake. We only aim to fly higher—because we have wings.”
Daoist Hyehae turned to him.
“So, what must you do to achieve that?”
There was a subtle glimmer of expectation in his eyes. He hadn’t intended to give a Zen lesson—but here it was.
“I must lighten the weight tied to my waist. In other words, I must discard my habits.”
Daoist Hyehae nodded.
“That’s why we say—never stop cultivating, not even for an instant. The moment you grow lazy with your wings, the weight will hit the ground. It will gather more filth, and your next flight will only be harder.”
“Ah! That must be what When the Dao grows by one foot, the demon grows by ten means.”
Daoist Hyehae nodded again.
“The Dao is like mist and cloud. If you stop walking, it vanishes. That’s why we liken it to the butterfly’s endless fluttering wings—even with a weight attached.”
He looked directly at Kwak Yeon.
“Now do you understand what it means when we say one’s Spiritual Energy has shattered?”
Kwak Yeon thought for a moment, then spoke.
“If you permit it, Daoist Hyehae, I’d like to offer one humble thought.”
“I don’t think going down into the world necessarily means becoming filthier. If anything... maybe when someone sees the filth of the world, they flap their wings harder. People are all different—so insisting on only one path might be too limiting.”
“How did you come to that thought?”
“I’ve seen that people all cultivate martial arts differently. Some do better at dawn, others in the middle of the day. Some focus better in noise, others in silence.”
“Thank you for listening to the ramblings of someone still so unlearned.”
Kwak Yeon bowed deeply and turned to go.
“You don’t resent Daoist Hyeonin?”
“Then why speak of him that way?”
“I don’t know... Maybe because I know what it feels like to be abandoned by family. Back then, I felt like giving up on everything.”
“And how did you endure that?”
“My new family... they cheered me on.”
Daoist Hyehae stood there for a long time, gazing up at the waning moon.
A few days later, Daoist Hyeonin descended the mountain.
He became the first wandering Daoist ever sent down from the Three Spirits Palace. The path of wandering cultivation meant leaving the sect to seek enlightenment through hardship and traveling the world.
Daoist Hyehae had already accepted that he would have to bear /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ full responsibility when their master, the Palace Lord, emerged from her seclusion.
Perhaps understanding his brother’s burden, Daoist Hyeonin crossed the Azure Cloud Bridge without taking a single item with him—not even the transcribed Daoist texts he’d copied by hand.
That day, Kwak Yeon stood with Daoist Cheongmu, watching from a distance as Daoist Hyeonin made his way down the mountain.
“Whew... he really left.”
Daoist Cheongmu’s sigh was full of unmistakable relief.
“I was scared out of my wits for a moment—I thought he was turning back.”
When Daoist Hyeonin had paused and turned around briefly at the bend in the mountain path, Daoist Cheongmu had literally jumped behind a tree in fright.
“Cheongmu... why are you so afraid of him these days?”
Over the past few days, Kwak Yeon had noticed how Cheongmu would turn pale like frostbitten sprouts whenever he caught sight of Daoist Hyeonin—and it had been bothering him.
“I don’t know. Just seeing him makes my heart pound like it’s going to explode.”
“That’s strange. Daoist Hyeonin hasn’t even said a word to you lately.”
“Huh? You’re right...”
Cheongmu tilted his head in confusion.
There was no finding the answer when even the person himself didn’t know it.
Kwak Yeon shifted the topic.
“Cheongmu... can I ask you something?”
“Did you put anything extra in the medicine I’ve been drinking?”
“Could you tell me what it was first?”
“I dug up some wild ginseng while I was out collecting firewood the other day. Since Master hasn’t been checking the herbs lately, I figured... Well, it’s valuable, so I thought it’d be good for you. Wait—are you feeling sick or something?”
Daoist Cheongmu grabbed his head in alarm.
“Oh no! That’s bad. Master said we’re not supposed to add anything without permission! But I just thought it would help you...”
“Cheongmu, I’m not sick at all.”
“Of course! Look—I’m full of energy.”
“You never know. You might look fine on the outside, but something could be wrong inside. Let’s go tell Master right now. He’ll call a physician from the medicine hall.”
Knowing how stubborn Cheongmu could be when he latched onto something, Kwak Yeon had no choice but to tell him the truth.
“Actually, Cheongmu... something good happened to me.”
“I felt something inside my dantian.”
“You mean... right here, below your navel?”
Cheongmu tapped his own sea of qi, then his eyes went wide.
“Whoa! You finally got that tingly feeling too?!”
“It’s not clear yet. I can’t control it or anything... it’s just this faint, sand-grain-sized itch.”
“That’s exactly how it started for me!”
Daoist Cheongmu let out a cheer.
“Wow! Kwak Yeon, that’s amazing! Hurry up and grow it! Then we can go up to the Spirit Energy Cliffs together to pick pine needles and race across the mountains! I’ll teach you everything I know!”
He was acting like he was ready to make a baby run sprints.
Still, Kwak Yeon couldn’t help but feel a swelling excitement in his chest as he listened.
He’d been full of doubts until now.
With no martial master to consult, he hadn’t been sure if what he felt was really a sign of energy accumulation.
He first noticed the change three days after regaining consciousness.
Daoist Cheongmu had practically locked him inside the room, leaving him nothing to do but meditate. As he performed Moving Meditation and channeled Taiji Internal Arts, he sensed something unfamiliar.
Warmth, then cold—then an itch inside his dantian.
He’d thought it might be his imagination from overfocusing, but the feeling didn’t fade.
His heart swelled, and his whole body trembled.
I really can cultivate internal energy!
It was far too late, and the sensation was faint—but the difference between having it and not was like heaven and earth.
After the excitement settled, a question rose in his mind.
How did this happen all of a sudden?
Kwak Yeon understood better than anyone that there’s no effect without a cause.
He recalled the thick black decoctions Cheongmu had been giving him morning and night.
For three days straight, he had drunk every last drop without missing a dose. Perhaps they had contained medicinal ingredients that nurtured Internal Energy Pressure.
And sure enough, Cheongmu had added wild ginseng.
But... could wild ginseng really be that powerful?
There was no doubt that wild ginseng was a rare and precious herb, known for restoring vitality and replenishing one’s essence.
But I’ve never read in any medical classic that it can generate Internal Energy Pressure.
A possibility crossed his mind—had Cheongmu mistaken Human-Shaped Snow Ginseng for regular wild ginseng?
“Cheongmu... is there any of that ginseng left?”
“Oh... no, it’s gone.”
“I used the last root in your decoction last night.”
Cheongmu patted Kwak Yeon’s shoulder and said,
“Don’t worry! I’ll find more for you.”
There was no way to confirm it now.
But there was no real need to.
What mattered was that he had finally sown the seed of Internal Energy Pressure.
All that remained was to cultivate it with dedication.
And when he did, he’d eventually find a way to resume his martial arts studies—no matter what.