Gaining Twenty Years of Internal Energy
Won Seung realized what was happening in that very moment.
He dropped to his knees and performed a grand disciple's bow to Dok Sabu. Dok Sabu, having taken in this quick-witted disciple, felt deeply satisfied.
"First, read these books and memorize them. Ask about anything you don't understand as it comes up. Practical training will begin once you've committed them all to memory."
Reading books was one of Won Seung's strong suits. From that day on, he pored over Dok Sabu's tomes every night.
The five volumes covered poisons, the art of lethal venoms, and poison arts. Three dealt with the creation of mineral, plant, and animal poisons, along with their antidotes. The fourth outlined methods for wielding poisons, and the final one delved into cultivating poison arts within the body.
Won Seung could memorize a book after one read-through, but these five were beyond even that. Their contents were vast, and some sections devilishly complex. A single misremembered detail could turn a poison into something disastrous, so precision was essential.
It took Won Seung a full month to commit all five books to memory. Dok Sabu seemed genuinely astonished.
"You've already memorized them all?"
"Yes. It was grueling."
"Truly all of them? Lie to me, and you'll regret it."
"Hmm... then test me."
Dok Sabu opened one of the books and quizzed him. Won Seung answered flawlessly, down to the tiniest minutiae. Internally, Dok Sabu was stunned.
This kid's sharper than I thought. Even hid his true talents from me.
Excitement stirred within him. He'd figured the boy was merely teachable, but this exceeded expectations.
Still, he kept his composure. Overpraising a child could breed arrogance.
"Satisfied? Then I'll return the books."
Won Seung handed back the five volumes, pondering to himself.
Dok Sabu has reached the realm of the Poisoned Man, yet why does he wheeze like this?
The poison arts volume's final section described the Poisoned Man: one who could intoxicate foes with breath alone.
A Poisoned Man accumulated toxins through constant ingestion, unleashing them at will—a walking venom incarnate.
Won Seung had memorized the books, but full comprehension eluded him. Still, he grasped Dok Sabu's level well enough.
And he could guess the master's current plight. Having attained the Poisoned Man realm, something had gone awry, sending toxic energies into rampage.
I'll never become some Poisoned Man.
Dok Sabu bundled the books back up and spoke.
"Poisons demand practice over theory. Before honing your venom craft, we strengthen your body first."
"My body's in peak condition."
Five years of mountain grinding had forged Won Seung's frame into something lean, tough, and free of excess fat.
"Shell means little without inner power to back it."
He grasped Won Seung's wrist, probing his qi. After a moment, he nodded approvingly.
"Solid foundation. But your inner energy falls short."
Won Seung had diligently practiced the Clear Mind Heart Technique for five years. It was the best bulwark against the rage that once felled him.
No matter the exhaustion, he meditated at least an hour before sleep. Otherwise, resentment and fury choked his chest and breath.
"Handling poisons risks self-intoxication. An antidote saves you if you're lucky—but not always. Then, inner power must hold you. To wield them properly, you need at least thirty years of cultivation."
"Gasp! Thirty years? So I wait that long?"
"Hardly."
Dok Sabu fetched a small jade box from his chamber. Opening it released a fragrant aroma. Inside lay three gold-foiled pills.
"These are Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pills. One typically grants the fruits of ten years' cultivation."
"Whoa! So three make thirty years' worth?"
Won Seung's eyes lit with shock and joy. Dok Sabu shook his head.
"No. Like poisons, pills build tolerance—effects diminish with multiples. Even all three yield only about fifteen years. With superior talent, more perhaps... but factoring your five years, expect around twenty."
Won Seung deflated a bit at the downgrade from thirty. Dok Sabu chided gently.
"Pills have limits in forging inner power. What comes easy demands diligent effort to sustain."
"I love cultivating heart techniques most."
Won Seung eyed the elixirs greedily. Dok Sabu cackled—kekeke.
Dok Sabu favored those with venomous ambition; only such dispositions mastered poisons.
"You love reading books most, throwing darts most... now heart techniques? Do you even know what 'most' means?"
"Of course. It means whatever's best right then—and I focus utterly in that moment."
A sly wisdom laced Won Seung's words. Dok Sabu paused, lost in thought.
Yes—focus on the now.
Defeat by the Poison King had haunted him with self-loathing. He'd vied for the world's deadliest venom and lost. Yet this child's words illuminated the path: the present moment.
Even a child teaches me.
Dok Sabu eyed his disciple anew. Memorizing his vast works in a month brought the thrill of nurturing genius.
His prior prospect, Dok Dong, took three months for one volume—a feat in itself. But arrogance led the fool to gobble poison unprepared, dying before aid arrived.
This time, Dok Sabu had invested fortunes and time crafting three Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pills, trading secret formulas—chronic toxin powder, swift-drying pills, deepest heart elixirs—for ingredients. Failure here would sting.
Unaware of this, Won Seung felt profound gratitude. He prostrated fully.
"Master's grace is immense. Accept this disciple's bow."
Sincerity rang true. Dok Sabu cackled—kekeke—and tapped Won Seung's bowed head with his staff.
"If you call it grace... no, as my disciple, easing your master's grudge is your duty."
He muttered half to himself. Won Seung asked.
"Master harbors a grudge?"
"Later for that. If you falter in poison arts, it's moot. Eat this pill first—refine your inner power."
That night, Won Seung swallowed one Blue Blood Rejuvenation Pill. Warmth bloomed from his lower abdomen, suffusing his body.
"Meditate and circulate."
With Dok Sabu guarding the chamber door, Won Seung entered samadhi swifter than usual.
The pill's energy dispersed, gathering in his dantian before cycling through the twelve principal meridians and eight extraordinary vessels. True to its name, his blood felt purified, channels fortified.
Won Seung meditated through the night, unbroken. When he skipped morning training, an instructor came looking.
"I have tasks for him—he'll miss drills a few days."
Dok Sabu sent the man away.
Won Seung emerged at dusk.
His body felt feather-light, dantian brimming, qi flowing meridians unbound.
So this is true inner power.
Dok Sabu's words rang true: his prior five years' gains were mere trifles.
Dok Sabu checked his pulse and qi.
"Excellently done. You've fully absorbed the pill's effects."
"How much power now?"
"Ten years from the pill. Plus your original five?"
"Fifteen."
Won Seung's diligent Clear Mind Heart Technique had maximized the yield.
"Next pill in a month. Stabilize this first."
Dok Sabu's tone softened, unlike before. Late-life genius thrilled him.
Won Seung meditated two more days, resuming drills on the third. Days blurred into training; evenings, Dok Sabu taught distinguishing toxic herbs, beasts, minerals—brewing milder poisons. Lacking thirty years' power, deadlies remained off-limits.
Nightly Clear Mind Heart Technique left sleep scant. Without fifteen years' foundation, he'd collapse.
Inner power lightened his frame; keeping pace was easy. But lingering aversion to becoming a Ten Perfect Assassin kept him capping efforts at adequacy.
Won Seung preferred mind-over-muscle poison craft.
A month later, the second pill. One night's meditation sufficed.
His gaze deepened, skin smoothed. Temples bulged at the sun acupoints; muscles and bones hardened. Qi flowed meridians unbidden.
Dok Sabu examined him, mildly surprised.
"Splendid again. It suits you perfectly. Six? Seven years this time? You've surpassed twenty years for sure."
Won Seung rued the meager six or seven; Dok Sabu buzzed with exceeding hopes.
Twenty years enabled qi projection. Sword qi lay distant, but channeling into a blade would match a first-rate master's without snapping.
Glad for Dok Sabu's joy, yet worried, Won Seung thought:
At this rate, I'll become a Ten Perfect Assassin for real.
Superior power meant excelling in swordplay, fist arts—inevitable under watchful instructors. No hiding it fully from their hawk eyes.
As if reading him, Dok Sabu said:
"The jianghu adage: conceal three-tenths of your skill. The more foes underestimate, the greater your odds. At a decade's cultivation, you'll mask qi. Until then, hide your light."
Won Seung fetched a mirror, snipped his ponytail—grown long over years—with shears. He tousled the remainder, veiling the bulging temples.
"This do?"
Kekeke...
Dok Sabu laughed at his disciple's antics.