A week later, they sat across from each other on the floor, legs crossed. The morning light came through the window. A small incense stick burned between them, the smoke curling upward in thin grey ribbons.
She had her eyes closed, trying to meditate the way he had shown her. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Feel for something inside.
"Jin-ah."
She looked up. Her eyes opened.
That was her name now. He had given it to her three days ago—Jin-ah, meaning "precious child." She had cried when he said it. Not from sadness. From something she could not name.
"You're special," Gaon said. His voice was calm, certain. "You will have a powerful power in the future."
Her eyes widened.
"How can you tell?" she asked.
"Because I'm strong and I can tell."
She smiled. A small smile, shy but real. Then she closed her eyes and went back to meditating, her small chest rising and falling with each breath.
Gaon watched her.
Her qi—if she had any—was still invisible to him. He could not sense energy the way real cultivators could. But he could watch her posture, her breathing, the way her fingers rested on her knees.
When I said she would be powerful...
Gaon looked down at his own hands.
I have no idea if she actually will be. I just wanted her to believe something good about herself.
Leaned back against the wall and kept watching her breathe.
Maybe she will be strong. Maybe she won't. But she'll never find out if she gives up now.
He said nothing. Just sat there in the morning light, pretending to know what he was doing.
Then something came back to him.
Isn't there supposed to be an acupuncture method? To help someone break through?
Gaon had read about it in one of the old books from Scholar Hwang's library. A specific placement of needles along the spine. The method was meant to open blocked meridians and help energy flow for those who couldn't feel it on their own.
He got up and walked to the wooden cabinet against the wall. The second drawer slid open. Inside was a small cloth pouch his mother had given it to him two years ago, saying, "You live alone now. Take this. In case you get sick." He had never used it. But he had kept it.
After untying the pouch, a set of thin silver needles lay inside, each wrapped in its own loop of cloth.
Turning back to Jin-ah, he said, "Don't move, okay? I'm going to put these on you."
She nodded without opening her eyes.
Gaon knelt behind her and reached for the hem of her tunic. She tensed for a moment, then forced herself still.
Lifting the fabric just enough exposed her back small, thin, the bones of her spine visible beneath the skin.
The upper back. Between the shoulder blades. Three needles in a line. Then lower, near the kidneys. Two more.
The diagram came from memory. The book had been old, the ink faded. But he had stared at those pages for hours, years ago, back when he still thought he might need the knowledge for himself.
Here goes nothing.
The first needle pressed gently into her skin. She flinched but did not move. Then the second. The third. Finally the two lower ones.
She took a sharp breath.
"I feel something," she whispered. "A tingling. Like... like something is moving."
Gaon sat back. His own heart was beating fast.
If I use external force on the needles... would that make it better?
No experience to draw from. No teacher to ask. But the external life force was just energy energy that could heal, energy that could strengthen plants. Why not energy that could push through a needle into someone's meridians?
His palm rose. The faint glow appeared. He guided it toward the needles, letting the energy drift down the silver shafts and into her back.
Jin-ah gasped.
Her whole body went rigid for a moment. Then she exhaled a long, deep breath that seemed to come from somewhere far below her stomach. The tension in her shoulders melted. Her head dropped forward.
"It worked," she said, her voice soft and wondering. "I can feel it now. Inside. A little. Like a tiny flame."
Gaon stared at the needles. His hand was still raised, the glow fading.
It actually worked.
No idea if the placement was correct. No idea if he had just helped her or hurt her. But she was smiling. A real smile this time. And her back, beneath the needles, was warm to the touch.
He pulled his hand back and let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.
After placing the last needle, Gaon backed away and sat on his heels.
Maybe she needs something to eat. Something that helps.
An idea surfaced. Apples. He had picked a few that morning from a tree near the stream. If he pushed external force into the fruit—the same way he did with herbs to make them stronger—maybe eating it would give her a small boost. Like a temporary buff.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen. The apples sat in a wooden bowl by the window three of them, red and firm. He took one and held it in his palm. The glow came easily now, flowing from his chest down his arm and into the fruit. The apple seemed to hum. The skin turned a deeper red, almost glowing from within.
He walked back to Jin-ah. She sat with her eyes still closed, the needles along her spine catching the morning light.
Gaon crouched in front of her and brought the apple to her lips. He did not ask her to open her eyes or move. He simply pressed the fruit gently against her mouth.
She hesitated for a second. Then her lips parted and she bit down.
The crunch was loud in the quiet room. Juice ran down her chin. She chewed once, twice, then swallowed.
Her eyes opened.
"That tastes..." She paused, searching for the word. "Different. Like it's warm inside."
Gaon pulled the apple back and looked at the bite mark. The flesh underneath was still glowing faintly.
"Eat the rest," he said. "Slowly."
Jin-ah chewed the last piece of apple and swallowed. Her eyes stayed open, but they looked distant, unfocused.
"I feel..." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "A lot. Too much. Like something is filling up inside. I might... I might start to overflow. What should I do?"
Gaon blinked.
Overflow?
He had never felt that. His own power sat in his chest like a lump of coal heavy, present, but never threatening to spill over. He had no idea what she was experiencing.
But he had read things. Played things. In another life, a different world, he had sat in front of a glowing screen and guided digital characters through moments just like this. When your mana pool is full, release it. When your ki overflows, expand your meridians by letting it all out at once.
He had no idea if that was real. But it sounded real.
"Release it all," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Don't hold back. Push everything out at once. It'll expand your qi flow."
Jin-ah looked at him with wide eyes. Then she nodded and closed her eyes.
Her small body tensed. Her fingers dug into her knees. The needles in her back trembled.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a wave of heat radiated off her so sudden and strong that Gaon had to lean back. Her tunic fluttered. The incense smoke between them scattered. A low hum filled the room, vibrating through the wooden floor.
Jin-ah gasped. Her back arched. The needles shot out of her skin and clattered against the wall.
Then she slumped forward, catching herself with her hands on the floor, breathing hard.
"I did it," she whispered. "I think. Something opened. Inside. Like a door."
Gaon stared at her. His heart pounded.
I have no idea what I'm doing. But it worked. Or at least, nothing exploded.
He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Good," he said. "That's good. Now rest. We'll try again tomorrow."
She looked up at him, sweat on her forehead, but smiling.
"Okay."
After removing the needles, Gaon stepped outside and let the door close behind him. He stretched his arms above his head and let out a long breath.
I might actually teach her more stuff I don't understand, he muttered to himself, almost laughing. Maybe I'll even start an organization someday. Ha.
He stopped.
The word hung in the air.
Organization.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the treeline.
No. That's ridiculous. I can barely take care of myself. Now I have a child to feed. And I'm supposed to build something?
He shook his head and walked toward the woodpile.
One thing at a time.
Money. He needed money. And good food—not just porridge and wild herbs and the occasional rabbit. Jin-ah was thin. Too thin. She needed meat, eggs, rice, things he could not afford.
I can't raise animals. That takes too long. I can't farm no land.
He picked up the axe and turned it over in his hands.
But I can make things. Tools. Nails. Blades.
Blacksmithing.
There was iron in the hills behind the hut. He had seen the red streaks in the rock face when he went looking for herbs. Crude ore, but usable. He could mine it himself. Dig a small hole into the mountain. Smelt it with a makeshift furnace.
I'll need a bellows. Charcoal. A mold for shaping.
He set the axe down and walked to the edge of the clearing, where the ground began to slope upward toward the rocky ridge.
I'll start tomorrow. Find the vein. Break the stone.
He looked back at the hut. Through the window, he could see Jin-ah lying on the bed, her small form curled under the blanket.
For her, he thought. And for me.
He turned and began gathering flat stones for a furnace.
To Be Continued.