117.Endless freedom.
Soun almost spoke of the sensation rising within him, then stopped.
If he began to speak, he feared he might sound like a fortune-teller.
He set down his spoon.
Putting down one's spoon was the simplest and clearest way to end a situation.
There was no reason to resolve every matter in the world at this very table.
"Then you'll need some time.
If the annex feels uncomfortable, I can arrange another place…"
"I will stay where I am… Aunt.
I think I should walk around a bit."
Lee Sogun understood the nature of masters.
There were not a few who, at the very threshold of attainment, lost their reason.
Others disappeared into the mountains before anyone could even confirm whether they had crossed the boundary.
To become something other than one was before was both blessing and burden.
To live among the world, one first required distance.
Distance from people.
Distance within relationships.
Distance from tangled interests and obligations.
When one's realm changed, one's way of relating must change as well.
Otherwise, one could not endure the discord between self and world.
Soun must now be feeling that difference clearly.
The small motions of daily life might seem like the movements of ants,
yet he could neither ignore them nor fully answer them.
Thus, distance was necessary.
Fortunately, the small courtyard of his dwelling was independent.
Once inside, the currents of the greater household quieted.
Yet now that his consciousness had widened, the emotions and stirrings of the entire estate brushed faintly against him.
He would have to learn how to know—and pretend not to know.
He would have to relearn how to live in this world.
As Soun turned toward his quarters, Mirang followed.
"Noona, I want to be alone today.
I need nothing else.
Please rest as well."
"I still need to prepare your bedding and fold the dried laundry…"
"Just today, please."
It was a quiet plea.
"Fine.
But don't tell Madam that I neglected my duties, understood?"
"Yes."
Mirang quickly ran toward the main house, eager to find someone to chatter with.
It was still her task to relay the day's happenings.
But she would not utter the word Hwagyeong.
Returning to the annex, Soun stood where he had attained his awakening.
A small wooden platform lay beneath the railing.
He sat and drew in a breath.
A transparent force surged through him like the sea.
There was no end to it.
With a single inhalation, the energy of heaven and earth gathered.
He opened his palm and transferred the intent of a sword stroke into his hand.
White sword-energy rose from his fingers.
It seemed a rock would split if struck,
and the ocean part if cleaved.
He leapt lightly.
His body rose through the air as though gliding.
For an instant, he thought he might truly fly.
Now he needed martial art.
A vessel to contain realization.
He entered his room and withdrew the compendium hidden within his Chunqiu.
He opened it slowly.
Sword, staff, rod, spear, halberd.
Cutting, severing, striking, sweeping, thrusting.
Each movement formed vividly within his mind.
It felt as though one reading were enough to grasp their essence.
The habits of a scholar lingered.
He read and reread.
When he reached what he had once studied, a faint smile appeared.
What had once been unclear now stood sharply defined.
Errors in the text caught his eye.
He took brush and ink and corrected them.
He understood not only what was wrong, but why.
He read while amending.
Time passed unnoticed.
The compendium, he realized, had been written by one who had not reached this realm.
Frustration rose within him.
His chest felt as though it would burst.
He could not remain here.
The small and precious things around him felt fragile, as though they might shatter.
He could not endure it.
Taking only his sword, he vaulted the wall.
He ran toward the mountain where he had once picnicked.
Using the footwork described in the compendium,
each step carried him dozens of paces.
He leapt, twisted, rolled, extended.
The movements from the page became reality.
He reached the foot of the mountain in moments.
No one was there.
Weaving between trees with swift steps, he practiced fist and leg techniques.
The force behind him was inexhaustible.
Martial art had become merely a path.
He ascended without sound.
Passing the temple, he arrived at the meadow overlooking the land below—
the very place of their spring outing.
Stars poured from the sky.
The depth of the constellations stood clear.
He steadied his breath.
It was not labored at all.
With one inhalation, nature flowed into him.
With one exhalation, it burst forth like lightning.
"So this is what it means to master one thing completely."
In the end, sword forms and footwork were merely methods of moving the body.
He lay upon the grass and looked up.
Endless freedom.
Freedom.
Once more the sensation swept over him, intoxicating.
Heaven and earth entered and left with a single breath.
Unable to contain it, he cried out:
"Wooooaaah!"
The sound surged across the mountains.
The sky seemed to answer.
He performed the meditative stance.
He practiced the Eight-Section Brocade.
He executed the sword forms from the compendium.
He leapt skyward.
He soared to astonishing heights,
until the world below seemed small,
then descended like a drifting cloud.
All night he engraved realization into his heart.
The Milky Way flowed slowly overhead.
A master of Hwagyeong does not outwardly appear different.
Yet if one stands near, one feels it.
The eyes are clear yet deep.
The smile light yet weighty.
The steps soundless, yet the earth responds first.
When he breathes, the air grows still.
Even unmoving, he stands at the center.
He does not overwhelm with force.
He simply exists.
The face is that of a youth,
yet within it lies the breadth of a night sky.
Hwagyeong is not brilliance or spectacle.
It is the place indistinguishable from nature.
Where movement and stillness are no longer separate.
That night, beneath the falling stars,
Soun stood in that place.