Hiding the Ember
Morning came. The dawn on Cheongseong Mountain was no different from yesterday. The sound of wooden swords. The rustle of brooms sweeping the yard. The slosh of water buckets. Wind threading between the pines. From afar came the low chants of the younger disciples. On the surface, everything looked the same as always.
But the moment Seoryeong opened her eyes, she knew something inside her was different. Her fingertips were not hot. Her heart was not racing. The pull of Mokgeuk was not as strong as it had been the night before. Yet a tiny something remained within her. The ember. It still had no proper name. Cheonghyeonja had told her not to name it. To Seoryeong, however, it was less a name than a sensation—a small heat that refused to go out. She could not grasp it with her fingers, but it was undeniably there. So she thought of it as an ember. Not a name, merely an ember.
Seoryeong sat atop her blanket and looked down at her palms. The space between the tip of Mokgeuk and the red thread had grown heavier by a single chi yesterday. The thread had been pressed without being touched. It had not been cut. It had not been burned. Only pressed. That sensation returned even in her dreams. Blue sword qi and red ember met, yet the blue line was not severed. The ember did not burn the qi. It simply pressed downward. Knees buckled, the sword sank, and sharpness could not hold. Seoryeong recalled the scene. It had felt good. Dangerously good. That was why she had to be more careful. The more one liked something, the more careful one must be, Hwarin had said. Elder Ungak had warned her not to repeat an unknown power recklessly. Gwakno had said that staring too long at something wondrous would only burn one’s hand.
Seoryeong turned each of their words over in her mind. Then she slowly closed her hand. Today she did not reach for Mokgeuk at once. She did glance at the weapon standing in the corner of the room—the practice Mokgeuk bound with a blue cord. After yesterday it looked different. It was no longer merely a long, heavy training tool. It was the first weapon her inner fire had touched, however slightly. Therefore she had to be even more careful.
Seoryeong stretched her hand toward Mokgeuk, then stopped. Not yet. First, breathe. She closed her eyes. Drew in a breath. Pushed the rising air downward. Pressed her soles to the floor. Though she held no Mokgeuk, she tried to feel its weight. Strange. Without holding it, her mind itched all the more. She wanted to pick it up. She wanted to check. She wanted to see whether yesterday’s sensation would return. That curiosity scratched at the inside of her mind like a tiny insect.
Seoryeong opened her eyes. “Curiosity is also fire,” she muttered. The words she had realized yesterday. Curiosity was fire. Liking something was fire. Anger was fire. The urge to run at the sight of someone strong was fire. Even the desire to eat more meat might be fire. Thinking that way, she realized there was far too much fire inside her. If she extinguished it all, she might disappear; if she let it all burn, the room would catch. Difficult. Truly difficult.
Hwarin’s presence sounded outside the door. Seoryeong looked toward it. Today she spoke before Hwarin could open it. “I didn’t pick it up.”
A brief silence followed from beyond the door. Then it opened and Hwarin entered. She glanced between Seoryeong and Mokgeuk, then gave a small smile. “You answered before I could even ask.”
“I wanted to.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
Hwarin stepped inside and sat before Seoryeong. Her expression was gentle, yet her eyes were serious. “Well done.”
Seoryeong’s eyes brightened a little. She understood by now that those words were praise. Still, the corners of her mouth lifted of their own accord.
Hwarin examined Seoryeong’s hands. “Still hot?”
“No.”
“Any pain or numbness?”
“None.”
“Dreams?”
Seoryeong hesitated. “I pressed down on sword qi.”
Hwarin’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “In the dream?”
“Yes. Blue sword qi. A sharp line. But my fire didn’t cut it. It pressed.”
Hwarin listened quietly. Seoryeong continued. “It felt good. So I think I have to be careful.”
Hwarin’s gaze softened. “If you can think that far, you’re already doing well.”
“Still, I’m curious.”
“Curiosity is natural.”
“I can’t try it?”
“Not today.”
Seoryeong nodded at once. “Understood.”
Hwarin looked faintly surprised. She had expected resistance, yet Seoryeong accepted it immediately. Disappointment was plain on her face, but she had accepted it.
Hwarin spoke. “Now I’m starting to feel a little afraid.”
Seoryeong tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because you learn far too quickly.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Was that praise? Or not, since it was about being frightening? “Is it praise?”
Hwarin could not hold back a laugh. “Half of it.”
“Then I’ll only be half grateful.”
Hwarin laughed outright. The laughter eased the tension in the room a little.
While tying Seoryeong’s hair, Hwarin spoke of the day’s schedule. “Elder Ungak said you will not be holding Mokgeuk today.”
Seoryeong had expected it, yet her face fell slightly. “All day?”
“At least the morning.”
“And the afternoon?”
“We’ll see how things go.”
“Who decides how things go?”
“Elder Ungak and I.”
Seoryeong nodded seriously. “Understood.”
Hwarin continued while finishing the silver braid. “Today is not a day to nurture the ember. It is a day to hide it.”
Seoryeong tried to turn her head, but Hwarin held it still. “Hide it?”
“Don’t move. Listen.”
“Okay.”
“If what lies inside you leaks outward, others will try to see it. They will try to name it, judge it, use it, or even fear it.”
Seoryeong pictured the outsiders’ faces. Wijinpyeong’s smile. Yuran’s bells. Gwakno’s clear eyes. Gwakno had not been bad, yet not everyone was the same.
“Therefore you must also learn how to hide it. Not to conceal it, but to keep your power from leaking out at will.”
Seoryeong understood a little. It was similar to stopping Mokgeuk. Similar to not swinging it. Even if the ember wished to come out, she would keep it in her hand for now.
“Is that also a fight?”
Hwarin smiled. “It is.”
Seoryeong drew a deep breath. Another fight. The fights she had learned since coming to Cheongseong Sect kept increasing. Striking fights. Enduring fights. Stopping fights. Waiting fights. Speaking fights. And now, hiding fights.
On the way to the dining hall, Seoryeong did not carry Mokgeuk. She had left it in the room. That alone felt empty. Her hands were light. Too light, and strange. She had not walked without either the ebony wood or Mokgeuk since arriving from the village. Of course, the broken spear tip still rested at her lower back. Yet it was already too short to use as a weapon.
Seoryeong opened and closed her empty hands. Hwarin asked from beside her, “Uneasy?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“My hands are empty.”
“You must also learn empty hands.”
“Is today empty-hand training?”
“Perhaps.”
Seoryeong looked down at her hands. Empty hands. Without a weapon, the body itself became the weapon. Yet after training at Cheongseong Sect, she felt it could no longer be that simple. Empty hands required their own caution. Hands could strike, but they could also grasp, stop, or help. When Yu Soha had staggered while walking, Seoryeong had waited instead of catching her at once. When the younger disciples passed, she had cleared the path with Mokgeuk. Empty hands did not only mean lacking a weapon to strike with.
Breakfast was quiet. There was no meat. Seoryeong had expected it. She no longer felt greatly shaken by a meatless table. A little sad, perhaps, but sadness was sadness and a meal was a meal.
Cheongmyeong’s eyes widened at Seoryeong’s empty hands. “You came without Mokgeuk today.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Forbidden.”
Dogyeom asked at once, “Elder Ungak’s order?”
“Yes. I mean, understood.”
Cheongmu set down his chopsticks. “Good.”
Seoryeong looked at him. “Why?”
“Yesterday your eyes were sparkling too much. You looked like you wanted to try again.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. He was right. “Yes.”
Cheongmu spoke as though it were obvious. “So forbidding it is correct.”
“Cheongmu’s been saying the right things lately.”
Cheongmu’s face stiffened. Cheongmyeong held back laughter. Dogyeom lowered his head slightly and ate. Hwarin drank water in silence.
Cheongmu grumbled, “Did you think I only ever say the wrong things?”
Seoryeong answered seriously. “At first I didn’t like you.”
“And now?”
Seoryeong looked at Cheongmu. Yesterday she had worried about him. Before that he had told her not to waver from her role. Before that they had fought. Before that he had provoked her. Cheongmu had said many things she disliked, yet lately he felt different.
“A little less.”
Cheongmu wore an ambiguous expression. “Should I thank you for that?”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yes.”
Cheongmyeong finally laughed. Dogyeom glared at him, yet even Dogyeom’s mouth twitched slightly this time.
After the meal they reached the training ground. Elder Ungak had prepared no weapons. No stones, no pillars, no red thread. Instead, a single cushion sat at the center of the ground.
Seoryeong’s face hardened the moment she saw it. Elder Ungak asked, “Why that expression?”
Seoryeong answered honestly. “Sitting training is difficult.”
“Today we do that difficult thing.”
Seoryeong drew a deep breath. She had expected it. Mokgeuk forbidden. Hide the ember. Then it must be breathing.
Elder Ungak pointed at the cushion. “Sit.”
Seoryeong sat on the cushion. Kneeling posture. It felt slightly more familiar than yesterday, yet still uncomfortable. She placed her hands on her knees. Her hands were empty. No Mokgeuk, no ebony wood. The most uncomfortable part was not her legs but her hands.
Elder Ungak spoke. “Today’s training has three parts.”
“Understood.”
“First, do not seek the ember.”
Seoryeong blinked. “Don’t seek it?”
“Correct. Do not force yourself to find it.”
Strange. It was training, yet she was not to seek it. Elder Ungak continued. “Second, if it rises, do not press it down.”
Even stranger. Then what was she supposed to do?
“Third, do not allow it to leak out.”
Seoryeong frowned. “Don’t seek it, don’t press it, and don’t let it leak?”
“That is correct.”
“It’s difficult.”
“That is why it is training.”
Seoryeong exhaled deeply. Elder Ungak’s training was always difficult. Yet strangely, it never felt wrong.
Elder Ungak dismissed the other disciples to the edges of the ground. Today there were almost no spectators. Dogyeom, Cheongmyeong, and Cheongmu stood a little farther away. Hwarin stood behind Seoryeong’s right side.
Elder Ungak said, “Close your eyes.”
Seoryeong closed them. With sight gone, sound grew louder. Distant wooden swords. The faint clatter of dishes from the dining hall. Wind brushing the training ground’s earth. Hwarin’s breathing. Elder Ungak’s presence. Cheongmyeong tried to stay still, yet his toes moved slightly. Cheongmu stood with arms crossed. Dogyeom’s posture was straight. She felt all of it.
Elder Ungak spoke. “You hear too much, smell too much, feel too much.”
“Understood.”
“That is an advantage, yet it also becomes kindling that stirs your fire.”
Kindling. When added to fire, it burned more. Seoryeong understood. The smell of meat was also kindling. Probably. Cheongmu’s words were kindling, Yuran’s bells were kindling, rumors were kindling.
“Today you will not burn all the kindling. You choose.”
“What?”
“What to place into the fire.”
With eyes closed, Seoryeong thought. She chose what to place into the fire. If she placed every sound and scent inside, the fire would grow. Then it would spread. If she placed nothing inside, the fire would shrink. Then she would have no strength. She placed only what was necessary. That might be the beginning of burning correctly.
Elder Ungak said, “Feel Hwarin’s presence.”
Seoryeong felt Hwarin. Right rear. Close. The familiar scent of red robes. The metallic smell of a scabbard. Calm breathing.
“Keep it.”
Seoryeong kept it.
“Let Cheongmyeong’s footsteps flow past.”
Cheongmyeong’s toes moved again, ever so slightly. Seoryeong let it flow. It did not vanish completely, yet she made it unimportant.
“Cheongmu’s gaze—”
Cheongmu was watching her. Curiosity, a trace of worry, a very small competitive spirit. Seoryeong felt it.
“Let it flow?”
“You decide.”
Seoryeong thought for a moment. Cheongmu’s gaze did not bother her. Yet did she need it now? No. What she needed now were Hwarin and her own breath. Cheongmu could come later.
“I will let it flow.”
“Good.”
Elder Ungak’s voice she kept. Hwarin’s presence she kept. Soles and breath she kept. The rest she let flow. Doing so made her mind a little quieter. Not completely silent, yet less noisy than usual.
Elder Ungak said, “Now look inside yourself. Do not seek the ember. If it is there, simply leave it be.”
Seoryeong tried to look inside. The urge to search immediately rose. Where is it? Where is yesterday’s heat? At that moment Elder Ungak spoke. “I told you not to seek it.”
Seoryeong flinched. “How did you know?”
“Your breathing changed.”
Again, breath. Breath seemed unable to lie. Seoryeong lowered her breath once more. She did not seek. She simply left it. Inside her was a very small heat. Not as clear as yesterday. It was not at her fingertips, nor was there a large flame at the center of her chest. It was merely like a red dot left among charcoal—very small. When she tried to look, it hid. When she tried to forget, it returned. Seoryeong found it strange. When she tried to grasp it, it receded; when she left it alone, it remained.
“Is it there?”
Hwarin’s low voice reached her. Seoryeong answered with eyes still closed. “A little.”
Elder Ungak said, “Good. Do not touch it.”
She did not touch it. That was harder. Seoryeong remained still, feeling the ember inside her. Time passed. Her legs grew numb. Her knees ached. Her hands were empty. She wanted to hold Mokgeuk. She wanted to nurture the ember. Yet she did not. She did not touch it. She did not seek it. She did not press it. She did not let it leak. She simply left it. This training was more frustrating than any she had learned so far. It felt as though she were doing almost nothing. Yet sweat formed. A thin line of sweat ran down her back.
After a long while, Elder Ungak spoke. “Now lower your breath a little deeper.”
Seoryeong lowered her breath. At that moment the ember moved ever so slightly. Not pressed downward, but settling along the path of the breath. It was not suppressed, nor did it grow. It simply did not scatter. Seoryeong quietly held onto that sensation. “Holding” was not quite right either. It was not grasping with the hand, but keeping it within a small vessel.
Hwarin’s voice came. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Elder Ungak pointed it out. “Focus on the training.”
“Understood.”
Cheongmyeong held back laughter from afar. Yet Seoryeong now let even Cheongmyeong’s laughter flow past.
After a long while, Elder Ungak said, “Open your eyes.”
Seoryeong opened them. Light entered. The training ground was unchanged. No stones, no pillars, no Mokgeuk. Yet Seoryeong felt strangely as though she had returned from a very distant place. Her body had barely moved, yet she was tired.
Elder Ungak asked, “What did you feel?”
Seoryeong thought. The ember. Small heat. When sought, it hid; when left alone, it remained. When breath was lowered, it settled. “A vessel.”
Elder Ungak’s eyebrows moved. “A vessel?”
“It was not grasping, but the feeling of containing.”
Hwarin’s gaze deepened. Elder Ungak was silent for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. “Good.”
Seoryeong brightened a little. “Praise?”
“It is praise. Remember only that sensation today.”
“Do it again?”
“No. This is enough for the morning.”
Seoryeong blinked. “Already?”
“Not moving the body much does not mean the training was little.”
That seemed correct. Seoryeong truly was tired. Her knees were numb as well. Yet her mind was a little quieter.
When they came out of the training ground, Cheongmyeong approached cautiously. “Are you all right?”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yes. It was difficult.”
Cheongmyeong laughed. “You were only sitting still.”
“Sitting still is the hardest part.”
Cheongmu spoke from beside them, arms crossed. “That is true.”
Seoryeong looked at him. “Cheongmu too?”
“I also dislike sitting still.”
“Then it’s difficult for Cheongmu as well.”
Cheongmu did not answer. Yet he did not deny it either.
Dogyeom said, “Sitting still is not merely not moving. It is seeing the self that wishes to move.”
Seoryeong looked at Dogyeom. “Dogyeom is like Elder Ungak.”
Cheongmyeong burst into laughter. Dogyeom closed his eyes. Cheongmu also gave a small laugh beside them. Hwarin turned her head to hide a smile.
After lunch, Seoryeong went to Uiyak Hall. Yu Soha was practicing walking again today. She was more stable than yesterday. She still held the railing, yet the strength in her hands had lessened.
Seoryeong spoke the moment she entered. “You’ve improved.”
Yu Soha smiled. “Is that praise?”
Seoryeong nodded. “Yes. I mean, understood.”
Yu Soha gave a small laugh. “Thank you.”
Seoryeong sat in a chair. Today, without Mokgeuk, it was easier to enter Yu Soha’s room. Yu Soha looked at Seoryeong’s empty hands. “You left your weapon behind today.”
“Forbidden.”
“Because of yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Yu Soha asked carefully, “Are you afraid of that power?”
Seoryeong did not answer immediately. Was she afraid? A little. Yet she also liked it. She was also curious. And it also felt like her own. “It’s scary and I like it.”
Yu Soha quietly accepted the answer. “I suppose that can happen.”
“Yu Soha too?”
“For me… it was the manual.”
Seoryeong looked at Yu Soha. Yu Soha released the railing and sat closer to the bed. “Hyeol-un-pal-sik was frightening. Yet at the same time, without it, my master’s final will would also disappear. So even though it was heavy and frightening, I could not let it go.”
“Have you put it down now?”
“Not completely. But I have put it down from my hands.”
Seoryeong nodded. She understood those words. Leaving Mokgeuk in the room did not mean she had forgotten Mokgeuk. Not seeking the ember did not mean the ember had vanished. Even when put down from the hands, it remained inside. That was not necessarily a bad thing.
“Even without it in the hands, it’s there.”
Yu Soha paused for a moment, then smiled. “Yes. I suppose so.”
At that moment, footsteps sounded outside the door of Uiyak Hall. Seoryeong turned her head. It was an unfamiliar scent. Yet there was no hostility. The smell of medicinal herbs. A young medicine boy named Yakdong entered with the Cheongseong Sect physician. He was the child who had come with Gwakno from Medicine King Valley and stayed behind for a while. Gwakno’s group had departed, yet this Yakdong was to organize the medicinal herbs Gwakno had entrusted to the Cheongseong physician and follow them down before sunset. He looked a little older than Seoryeong, yet he was not a martial artist. He carried a small medicine box, and his eyes were full of curiosity.
The physician said, “I came to organize the medicinal herbs Gwakno requested before his departure.”
Yakdong’s eyes widened when he saw Seoryeong. “Ah, you are the one who…”
The physician immediately coughed. Yakdong closed his mouth.
Seoryeong looked at him. “The one who?”
Yakdong wore an awkward expression. “It’s nothing.”
“The silver-haired monster?”
Yakdong’s face turned white. The physician pressed a hand to his forehead. Yu Soha held back laughter.
Seoryeong spoke seriously. “I didn’t chew and eat anyone.”
Yakdong grew even more flustered. “Pardon? Ah, yes. Understood.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Good.”
Yakdong looked at Seoryeong with a strange expression. A face that did not know whether to be afraid or to laugh. Seoryeong saw that expression and thought. The rumors were still alive. Even after the outsiders left, the words remained. Those words had reached even Yakdong’s mouth. She was not angry. She was a little tired. Yet she could speak as she just had. That she had not chewed and eaten anyone. It was not a perfect solution, yet at least it worked in this room.
While organizing the herbs, Yakdong kept glancing at Seoryeong. Seoryeong felt that gaze, yet let it flow past. It was unnecessary. What she needed now were Yu Soha’s steps and her own breath. And a little hunger.
On the way back to the annex after leaving Uiyak Hall, Seoryeong looked toward the mountain gate. The outsiders had departed, yet the scent they left behind lingered faintly. The smell of dust stirred by hooves. The medicinal scent of Medicine King Valley. The memory of Soyunmun’s bells. The sharp gazes of the Namgung Clan’s guest elders. All of it still remained a little. Yet it was fainter than yesterday. With time it would grow fainter still. Would the rumors be the same? No, rumors might grow larger the farther they traveled.
Seoryeong stopped herself from thinking further. If thoughts wandered too far, they too became fire. For now she looked ahead.
The afternoon training was footwork. Without Mokgeuk, barehanded. Before training began, Elder Ungak spoke first. “Today you will not hold Mokgeuk until the end.”
Seoryeong looked down at her empty hands. “Even though the morning went well?”
“There are times when appearing well is more dangerous. The moment a person feels they are fine, they try to confirm it again.”
Seoryeong could say nothing. He was right. She truly wanted to confirm.
Elder Ungak continued. “Not holding Mokgeuk today is also training. Knowing the ember exists, yet not trying to confirm that ember. That is this afternoon’s training.”
Seoryeong slowly nodded. “Understood.”
Elder Ungak drew three paths on the training ground floor. One was a straight path. One was a greatly curved path. One was a path broken in the middle. “Today you choose a path without holding a weapon.”
Seoryeong looked at the three paths. “Which path is good?”
“You judge that.”
“What is the goal?”
Elder Ungak planted a small white flag at the far end of the training ground. “Reach that flag. However, I will change the situation midway.”
Changing the situation. Those words were becoming somewhat familiar. The martial world also changed situations. Tests also changed situations. Opponents also changed situations. Each time, she had to look at the path again.
Seoryeong looked at the straight path. It was the fastest. Yet too obvious. The curved path took longer, yet allowed her to see her surroundings. The broken path had an empty space in the middle. She could jump over it, yet today jumping might not be the answer.
Seoryeong chose the curved path. Elder Ungak asked, “Why?”
“The straight path is fast, yet if it changes I might be late. The curved path is slow, yet I can see beside me.”
Elder Ungak’s gaze softened slightly. “Go.”
Seoryeong walked. At first she moved slowly. She placed her feet, lowered her breath, and looked around. When she had gone about halfway, Elder Ungak rolled a stone onto the path. Seoryeong did not dodge immediately. She first watched the direction the stone would stop. Then she stepped half a pace aside. She kept walking.
Cheongmyeong gave a small exclamation of admiration. “She would have jumped right away before.”
Cheongmu said, “She still looks like she wants to jump.”
Seoryeong heard it, yet let it flow past. He was right. She wanted to run. Yet she walked.
The second situation change was more difficult. Elder Ungak signaled Cheongmu. Cheongmu took up a wooden sword and suddenly entered from the straight path toward Seoryeong. It was not a real attack, yet it was a movement that blocked the path. Seoryeong’s hands were empty. Without a weapon, her body tried to move first. She could grasp Cheongmu’s wrist and throw him. Yet today it was footwork. Feet before hands. Seoryeong did not clash with Cheongmu. Instead she circled farther outward along the curved path. Cheongmu’s wooden sword blocked empty air. The path opened. She passed through.
Cheongmu spoke from behind. “You dodged well.”
Seoryeong did not stop walking. “Praise?”
Elder Ungak spoke at once. “Do not speak during training.”
“Understood.”
Cheongmu turned his head and held back laughter.
The final situation change came before the white flag. Elder Ungak said, “Stop without taking the flag.”
Seoryeong stopped one step before the flag. Before, she would have taken the goal. Yet she stopped.
Elder Ungak asked, “Why did you stop?”
“Because you told me to stop.”
“Even though the goal is right in front of you?”
“Yes.”
“Disappointed?”
“A little.”
“Remember that disappointment. Whether it is power, a goal, or the ember, the moment just before reaching it is the most dangerous.”
Seoryeong looked at the white flag. Just before reaching. One chi from Mokgeuk. One chi before Cheongmyeong’s hand. One chi before the red thread. One chi before the door. And now, one chi before the ember. Seoryeong nodded. “Understood.”
When the afternoon training ended, Elder Ungak did not say she could hold Mokgeuk today. Seoryeong wanted to ask, yet held back. Asking might also be fire. Yet holding back grew frustrating, so she eventually looked at Hwarin. Hwarin met her gaze and spoke. “Not today.”
Seoryeong looked slightly sullen. “Understood.”
“You endured well.”
At those words, Seoryeong’s face eased a little. She did not need to ask whether it was praise. This time she knew.
After dinner, when Seoryeong returned to the annex, she finally stood before Mokgeuk. Yet she did not touch it. Today’s training was that. The way to hide the ember. The way to stand before what one liked and not grasp it. Mokgeuk stood quietly. The blue cord was still as well. Seoryeong brought the cushion and sat before Mokgeuk. Hwarin watched from the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Training not to grasp.”
Hwarin was silent for a moment, then laughed. “A fine training.”
“It’s difficult.”
“It will be.”
Hwarin entered the room and sat across from Seoryeong. “It is difficult to do alone, so I will stay with you.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Okay.”
The two sat without speaking for a while. Mokgeuk was before them. Seoryeong placed her hands on her knees. She wanted to grasp it. Yet she did not. She kept Hwarin’s presence. She kept Mokgeuk’s position. She let the desire of her hands flow past. No—she did not let it flow completely away. She contained it in a vessel. Vessel. The sensation she had felt this morning. The feeling of containing the ember rather than grasping it. Seoryeong recalled it again. The air in the room grew quiet.
Hwarin watched Seoryeong and thought. This child was truly changing at an astonishing speed. At first she had understood everything by clashing with it. Even now the essence was not greatly different. Yet before clashing she stopped, after stopping she looked, and after looking she tried to put it into words. She was still dangerous. Perhaps she would become even more dangerous in the future. Yet what mattered was that she was seeing that danger within herself.
Seoryeong suddenly spoke. “Hwarin.”
“What is it?”
“What if my fire is bad?”
Hwarin did not answer at once. It was not a question that could be answered lightly. Seoryeong spoke while looking at Mokgeuk. “If it is a pressing force, it could crush people, they say.”
“Yes.”
“Then is it bad?”
Hwarin spoke slowly. “A sword can also kill people. Yet a sword is not unconditionally bad.”
Seoryeong lifted her head. “The person who wields the sword is important?”
“Yes.”
“The fire too?”
“It is.”
Seoryeong looked at Mokgeuk again. The person who wields it was important. Then she herself was important. Those words felt a little heavy.
Hwarin continued. “It is true that your fire is dangerous. Yet something dangerous is not necessarily bad. A forest fire burns villages, yet the fire in a stove cooks rice.”
Seoryeong thought over those words for a long while. Forest fire and stove. Burning fire and life-giving fire. Destructive fire and necessary fire. Then a very Seoryeong-like thought suddenly occurred to her. “Does it also cook meat?”
Hwarin paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Yes. It also cooks meat.”
Seoryeong nodded with great seriousness. “A good fire, then.”
“The metaphor suddenly went too far in the eating direction, but yes, that is correct.”
Seoryeong felt a little more at ease. Fire was not only bad. Fire burned, yet it also cooked. Weapons killed, yet they also protected. Hands struck, yet they also helped. Then could her own fire become like that as well? A protecting fire. A fire that pressed yet did not destroy. A fire that toppled strong opponents yet did not burn the weak. Seoryeong liked that thought.
Night deepened. As Hwarin left the room, she said, “Truly do not touch Mokgeuk today.”
“Okay.”
“Promise.”
Seoryeong nodded. “Promise.”
After Hwarin left, Seoryeong watched Mokgeuk for a long while. And truly did not grasp it. Instead she held the broken spear tip in her hand. It was not to test an unpermitted power. It was merely to remember the beginning. Seoryeong looked down at the spear tip and spoke. “I didn’t pick it up today.”
The spear tip did not answer. Yet Seoryeong was satisfied. Today she had gone a little farther. Without swinging. Without grasping. While hiding.
As night deepened, dreams came. A red battlefield. Yet this battlefield was quiet. There were no enemies. No sword qi. The flag was far away. At the center of the battlefield stood a single small brazier. Inside the brazier was a very small ember. Seoryeong sat before it. She held neither polearm nor Mokgeuk. Her hands were empty. The ember was small. If she blew on it, it would grow quickly. If she covered it with her hand, it would go out. If she left it as it was, it might also disappear. Seoryeong watched quietly. She did not seek. She did not press. She did not let it leak. Vessel. The brazier in the dream was a vessel. Not a prison that confined the ember, but a place for the ember to stay. Seoryeong did not reach out her hand. She only lowered her breath. Then the ember grew slightly more stable. It did not grow. It did not go out. It merely burned quietly. In that firelight a door appeared. The door she had seen in the previous dream. The door that had opened one chi at a time. Today the door did not open further. Yet it did not close either. Beyond the gap in that door was the shadow of a massive polearm. And a very faint red weight flowed along that blade. Seoryeong wanted to enter. Yet today she did not go. She sat before the ember and waited. Waiting was also a fight. Hiding was also a fight. Not grasping was also a fight.
In the dream someone spoke. Well done. It sounded like Hwarin’s voice, and like Elder Ungak’s voice, and like the voice of someone very far away. Seoryeong asked even in the dream. Praise? There was no answer. Yet the ember swayed ever so slightly. As though it had laughed.
Seoryeong opened her eyes. It was before dawn. The room was dark, and Mokgeuk was still in its place. Seoryeong did not reach out her hand. She merely lowered her breath slowly. The ember was still there. It had not gone out. It had not grown. It simply was. Today that alone was enough. Seoryeong closed her eyes again. Tomorrow would also be difficult. Perhaps she would be allowed to hold Mokgeuk, and perhaps not. Rumors would move again, and the martial world would grow complicated once more. Yet today she had learned one thing. Revealing power was not everything. Sometimes hiding it was also power. And hiding the ember was not denying the ember, but protecting it. She liked that thought. Seoryeong quietly fell asleep.