All I Did Was Teach Her How to Breathe

'Well, I'm screwed.'

That single crude phrase was the only thing circling my head the entire climb up the mountain.

Ever-Yin Severed Meridians (구음절맥, Gu-Um-Jeol-Myeok).

When I'd snatched that girl's skeletal wrist off the dirt street last night, a savage cold had sliced straight through her sleeve and into her very bones. Anyone who'd spent ten years in their past life devouring martial arts novels three meals a day—a seasoned, dyed-in-the-wool otaku—couldn't fail to recognize that infamous, all-too-familiar trope.

A cursed constitution, born with ice-cold Yin qi coiled through every meridian of the body. Violent seizures from a chill that gnawed at the marrow without warning, and most victims coughing up blood and dying before they ever saw twenty. A legendary ticking time bomb.

'...Not that there's no way to cure it, I suppose.'

In wuxia novels, the answer was always one of two things. Either force-feed the patient a mythical elixir like ten-thousand-year snow ginseng or fire dragon grass to burn the Yin qi away, or have a supreme master who'd ascended to the Realm of Transformation sacrifice half of their own internal energy to bore open every twisted channel in the patient's body, one by one.

'And what the hell does that have to do with me? Not even a hair's worth.'

Everything I had to my name amounted to half a sack of dirt-crusted potatoes, four lonely coins jingling in my pocket, and a glass lower back that creaked if I pushed my walking even slightly.

I'd picked up some sucker of a disciple so she could chop firewood, cook meals, and scrub floors while I lazed around in my room sucking on honey—and the heavens, apparently deeply offended by my fraudulent little scheme, had dumped a walking hospital wing of a time bomb on me, one with no realistic hope of being saved. Paid in advance, no less.

"Hahh... koff! Koff...!"

Behind me, ragged coughing echoed up the slope as someone's breath ran out completely.

At first I just kept walking, pretending not to hear. But before I could take more than a few steps, that wheezing like a punctured accordion came scraping after me, dragging at my lungs.

In the end, I stopped and looked back.

"..."

Soyeon was far farther down than I'd expected, clawing her way up the steep dirt incline on two stick-thin legs that looked ready to snap in the wind, whimpering with every motion.

One step forward. Another.

Stumble.

When her foot slipped and she nearly pitched forward, she caught herself on the gnarled base of a pine jutting from the roadside, gripping it with both hands.

Ice-cold sweat glistened on her bloodless lips, and her little chest heaved so violently it hurt to watch. And yet, the instant she noticed me standing there looking down at her, her eyes went round as beans.

Then, pale as death, she started scrambling frantically to catch up.

"Hey, hold on a second."

"Eek!"

She flinched like a startled turtle, shoulders hunching, and shivered on the spot.

"S-sorry...! I'll catch right up! I'm really not tired at all!"

"Not tired? Look at yourself."

"I can... I can walk faster! Please don't throw me away...!"

Before the words were even out, her knees buckled, and she barely kept herself from crumpling to the ground. Her whitened fingers clutched at her dust-caked, grime-stained skirt hem like she was tearing at it.

"I won't be late... just wait a little... I'll really go faster...."

Watching her hang her head and tremble like that, something in my chest went tight and heavy.

Just what had they done to this child, that she couldn't even breathe properly and was still grinding her teeth and hauling herself up a mountain for fear of being abandoned?

I swallowed a long sigh and trudged back down the slope. Then, turning my back to Soyeon—who was staring up at me blankly—I crouched down.

"Hop on."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Hop on. Are you deaf?"

Nothing came from behind me. I turned my head slightly to find Soyeon staring at me with a dazed, dumbstruck look, having not even thought to wipe the dirt smeared on her cheek.

"What are you doing? Get on already."

"M-me...?"

"Is there anyone else here but you?"

"B-but..."

Soyeon looked down at her feet and her threadbare hemp clothes with cowed eyes.

"My clothes are all muddy... they're so dirty...."

"Mine are just as dirty. Don't worry about it."

"Still... if I ride on your back, it'll be hard on you, Master... I might be heavy...."

I stared at her, up and down, utterly dumbfounded.

A scrawny neck with collarbones jutting out of it. Her dirt-smudged cheeks were hollowed and gaunt. The wrists poking out of her worn sleeves were thin enough to circle completely with just my thumb and forefinger.

"You look lighter than a feather. What on earth are you worried about your weight for? Enough talk—get on before the sun comes up."

"I-I really can walk, though...."

"Is your master's word not worth anything? Hurry up."

Only when I put a bit of weight into my voice did she shrink back in fright and approach, carefully.

But even then she couldn't bring herself to climb on, hovering and hesitating for the longest time—until all she did was rest her fingertips lightly on my shoulders.

"Hold on tight. If you fall off and get a concussion, that's not my problem."

"Yes...."

Her thin arms wound carefully around the back of my neck. I braced her stick-like thighs firmly in my hands and straightened my back with a grunt.

Crack—

An ominous grinding sound rose from around my lumbar spine, followed by a shooting pain.

'Ah, goddammit, my lower back—!'

Trying to save someone else's life, I was going to end up half-paralyzed and crossing the River of Death first.

And yet, after a few steps with her on my back, the weight was strangely... absent.

'...Has this kid actually been eating? Ever?'

It didn't feel like carrying a twelve-year-old child. It felt like hauling a single tuft of thoroughly dried straw. Her joints poked straight into my back.

Worse, the little sprout behind me wasn't even putting her full weight on me. She'd thrown all her strength into her arms around my neck, hoisting her upper body backward and trembling in midair, straining with that pitiful little body to keep as much of herself off my back as possible.

"Hey."

"Y-yes?!"

"What are you doing?"

"..."

"Relax and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lean against my back properly."

"I'm fine! I'm really not heavy at all!"

"It's not about whether you're heavy—I'm the one about to die here."

"...!"

Behind me, Soyeon jolted and flailed in alarm.

"S-sorry! I'll get down! Put me down, please!"

"Stay still! If you keep floating there like a levitating monk, the center of gravity shifts backward and my back snaps in half. Enough. Just lean on me, all of you."

"..."

A brief silence passed—and then, at last, her warmth settled against my back. An exceedingly careful weight, as delicate as someone setting down a fragile glass marble.

I shut my mouth. Say one more word of nagging and she'd probably end up holding her breath this time.

We climbed the slope in silence.

Before long, a chill began seeping through her ragged coat and into my spine. It wasn't the biting autumn wind of the mountain. It was the Yin qi pouring off Soyeon's body—the kind that froze you down to the marrow.

'...Yeah, there's really no solving this.'

Ever-Yin Severed Meridians. Nothing I could fix.

That would've been true whether I'd read wuxia novels for ten years or a hundred. In reality, I was just an ordinary guy with not a single drop of internal energy to my name.

But there were a few small things I could do right now. Get her somewhere out of the wind and rain, lay a fire on a warm floor, feed her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠boiled potatoes until her belly was round.

Her life had already rolled down into my lap. The least I could do was that much, and then we'd see whether she lived or died.

"Master...?"

By the time we'd climbed high enough that my own breath was ragged, a whisper like a mosquito creeping came from behind me.

"What."

"I...."

"If you've got something to say, say it loud. I'm out of breath."

The child fidgeted against my back, hesitating—and finally forced it out.

"I won't sleep...."

"What?"

"I... I absolutely won't fall asleep."

What on earth was this about now?

"In case... in case I fall asleep and get heavier. So I won't sleep...."

A disbelieving, hollow laugh escaped me.

"Quit the nonsense and close your eyes. That's an order from your master."

"But...."

"Disobey and I'll leave you on the roadside right now?"

The area behind my back went unnaturally quiet.

And less than a minute later—

Sniff... sniffle...

The breath against the nape of my neck slowed, deepening into a soft, even rhythm. After all that struggling about how she wouldn't sleep, the moment she was carried she'd relaxed completely and dropped off like a light.

"Says she won't sleep, and sleeps just fine."

Hitching the unresponsive little bundle higher on my back, I rubbed my aching waist and pressed steadily on up the mist-shrouded mountain path.

By the time we reached the weed-choked abandoned compound deep in the valley, the sun had fully slipped past the western ridge and darkness lay thick over the land.

"Yeon-ah."

"..."

"Hey, Soyeon. We're here. Wake up."

When I jostled her lightly, a thin groan escaped her and her eyes fluttered open.

"Mmnh... oh! M-Master!"

The moment she realized she was still clinging to my back, Soyeon panicked and scrambled clumsily down off me.

"I'm sorry! I fell asleep without meaning to...!"

"Enough. Stop with all the apologizing already. It's grown a callus on my ears."

Soyeon stared down at her own toes with a thoroughly cowed face—then slowly raised her head to look at the scene before her.

A crumbling haunted house, laid bare under the moonlight.

A mud-brick wall collapsed in patches, a yard overgrown with weeds chest-high to a grown man, the eaves of the main hall missing roof tiles in ragged clumps, its bare skeleton jutting out grotesquely.

Alone, I'd thought, 'Well, at least it'll keep the rain off.' But having to show it to someone else, it looked like a beggar's hovel, plain and simple.

'Is she going to realize I'm a con artist and run for it?'

I was sweating inwardly, watching her expression, when—

"...Wow."

A dazed gasp slipped out between Soyeon's parted lips.

"It's so... big."

"Huh?"

"The house... it's so big. The yard is this huge, and... there must be so many rooms...!"

Eyes stretched wide as fists, the child gazed up in pure awe at the rotted wooden plaque over the gate—on which 'Cheonhae Gate' had been scrawled in charcoal—as if it were a nameboard carved from solid gold.

'...Ah. So that's her baseline.'

Come to think of it, a girl who'd grown up in a dirt-poor farmer's hovel with seven mouths to feed would find a massive courtyard-style hall impressive as a palace, even if it was falling apart.

I quietly let out my relief and cleared my throat with great ceremony.

"Ahem! Naturally. This is the timeless sanctum of our ancient main hall. It has merely gathered the dust of the ages while sheltering from the eyes of the vulgar world."

"This is... your sect, Master?"

"It is. Cheonhae Gate, of which I am the sect leader. Don't just stand there gawking—it's cold. Let's get inside."

When I pushed open the creaking door and stepped into the inner room, the air inside was a walking meat locker. Deep in the mountains with the sun fully set, the room was frigid to the bone.

Rubbing my aching back, I crouched in front of the earthen hearth. I raked out the ashes, tossed in some dry twigs, and pulled the flint from my pocket.

Clack! Clack! Scratch-scratch!

"Goddammit... why won't it catch."

At Manbokru the kitchen stove's fire had never once gone out, but striking flint against bare ground was maddening. Only after three or four botched attempts did a spark finally take to the end of a dry straw bundle. I leaned down, pressed my mouth to it, and blew.

Whooo. Whooo.

Acrid smoke billowed across the room, stinging my eyes and nose without mercy.

"Koff! Kck!"

I was coughing, tears pricking at my eyes, when I heard a rustle beside me and Soyeon crouched down at my side.

"Master, let me do it."

"It's fine. Kids stay out of it."

"I'm really good at lighting fires! I banked the stove fire at home every single day!"

"I said it's fine."

"I'm good with firewood too, and I can fetch water...!"

Soyeon grabbed at my sleeve, her face frantic, as if she'd be thrown out on the spot if she didn't do something—anything. Looking into those desperate little eyes, refusing her again just felt cruel.

"Then go grab a couple of those dry branches from that corner over there."

"Yes!"

The girl shot up like a spring, darted off, and came running back with dry twigs cradled reverently in both hands. I laid on the firewood and blew gently, and before long red flames crackled up from the hearth. A faint, homey warmth began to seep into the cold room.

And then, at that very moment—

Grrrrroooowl—

Thunder rolled through the quiet room.

Soyeon flinched and clutched her stomach with both hands. The eyes that met mine were trembling without restraint.

"Hungry?"

"N-no!"

The answer came out in 0.1 seconds flat. And then—

Grroowl— grrrrowl.

Her honest stomach clock let out another furious scream.

"..."

"..."

Flushing red as a boiled beet, Soyeon hung her head low.

"...A little."

"Wait here."

I dragged over the hemp sack I'd dumped in the corner. I put three or four dirt-crusted potatoes in a basin, rinsed them roughly in well water, filled the iron pot, and set it over the hearth.

As the water came to a boil, a nutty, faintly sweet smell of potatoes began to fill the room. From that moment on, Soyeon's gaze stayed glued to the pot lid like paste and would not let go.

Her head stayed demurely bowed, but her eyes darted sidelong glances at the pot, once, and again. The moment I caught her looking she'd startle and snap her gaze back to the fire—yet she couldn't hide the sound of her throat swallowing, dry and audible.

'She must've been starving.'

I prodded one with a chopstick—soft, cooked all the way through. I took the pot off the fire and pushed two big, well-cooked potatoes toward Soyeon on a crude clay dish.

"Eat."

"...Two of them?"

Soyeon murmured blankly, staring at the dish.

"What, not enough?"

"No! I mean... I can really eat both...?"

"They're for eating, not for looking at. Eat before they go cold."

Soyeon couldn't bring herself to reach out, still searching my face for permission.

"And you, Master...?"

I picked a slightly smaller potato out of the pot with my bare hand.

"I'm eating too. So quit stalling and eat."

Only then did Soyeon pick up a potato with trembling hands. The freshly boiled potato was hot, and she rolled it across her palms, blowing on it in little puffs. She peeled off the thin dirt-dusted skin bit by bit, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cautiously—and only after confirming that I'd taken a bite did she nibble the very corner of her own.

Chew, chew.

The child's jaw stopped dead mid-chew.

"What's wrong? Undercooked?"

Soyeon shook her head slightly. Then she bit down into the potato, big and deep, until her mouth nearly split.

"It's delicious...."

"It's a potato. Potatoes taste like potatoes. Nothing remarkable about it."

"It's warm...."

Cupping the potato in both hands, Soyeon pressed it against her chest like she was hugging it to her heart, and murmured:

"It's warm, so... it tastes so good...."

At some point, tears had begun welling up in the child's huge eyes. They slid down her cheeks and dripped, plip, onto the potato—but she didn't stop, shoveling the potato into her mouth in a desperate hurry.

Sniffling, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, clutching it tight all the while as if someone might snatch it away—watching that pitiful figure, my throat closed up completely and I couldn't say a word.

"...Eat slowly. You'll choke."

"Yes... sniff, yes...."

I ladled her out a bowl of water; she gulped it down noisily and picked up her second potato. But this time she didn't put it straight in her mouth like before—she held it until her fingertips went white, watching me carefully.

"Master...."

"What now."

"I... I don't have to eat a lot."

"What kind of nonsense is that out of nowhere?"

"Really. Even just one potato a day is enough."

Soyeon gazed down at the potato resting on her knees, her eyes pleading, and went on.

"I'm good at field work, and I can do the laundry... I'm good at gathering wild greens, too. I can do whatever you tell me."

"..."

"So... I'll definitely earn my keep... so please, please don't throw me away...."

Watching a twelve-year-old child cling to two boiled potatoes like her life depended on them, I—con artist and all—couldn't even manage a hollow laugh.

"Hey."

"Yes...."

"Worry about earning your keep later. Right now, just swallow what's in your mouth. If you make yourself sick, the medicine bill costs more."

"...Yes."

Soyeon sniffled and bit into her potato again, deep this time.

Even after she'd polished off both potatoes, skin and all, Soyeon didn't get up. She sat quietly holding the empty dish to her chest, fidgeting on the dirt floor and watching me sidelong.

"What are you doing sitting like that? Not full?"

"N-no! I'm full! So full I could burst!"

She waved her hands in frantic denial.

"Good then. You've had a long walk today, so get some sleep. I'll be putting you to work starting tomorrow."

I rose to collect the pot and dishes. And that was when it happened.

"Um... Master?"

The way she addressed me had changed. She'd been calling me dosanim—reverend Taoist—all this time, but apparently two potatoes had opened her heart completely.

"What."

"I... there's something I want to ask."

"What is it. Ask."

Soyeon knelt where she was, eyes fixed on the floor, wringing her hands.

"Could I... learn martial arts too?"

"...What?"

My hand, reaching for the dishes, froze solid in midair.

"Martial arts?"

"Yes...."

"Why are you asking that all of a sudden?"

Soyeon bit her lip and spoke with great care.

"My father told me once. The people who train at the martial halls in town learn martial arts, and it makes their bodies strong and their strength great."

"...Well. I suppose so."

I'd only ever seen it in novels and webtoons in my past life, never with my own eyes—but sure.

"He said if you learn martial arts, you can soar over tall mountains and lift heavy sacks of rice with ease."

Soyeon looked quietly down at her own withered, stick-thin wrists.

"I was born with a weak body, so... I couldn't even help properly with the housework, and I got scolded every day for nothing but coughing. I just wasted money on medicine...."

Her voice trailed lower and lower, creeping into itself.

"But if I learn martial arts, I'll get healthy, won't I? I won't catch colds, I won't cough...."

Soyeon's head snapped up. Her eyes were burning harder and more earnestly than I'd ever seen them.

"Then I'll get strong too, and at your Cheonhae Gate, Master, I'll chop firewood in huge armfuls! I can work the fields from dawn to dusk! I can repay your kindness...!"

The child sprang to her feet, then dropped to her knees right in front of me, pressed her forehead to the floor, and bowed.

"Please teach me martial arts, Master! I'll truly risk my life and learn with everything I have...!"

"..."

Ah.

Master.

What a sweet, sweet sound it made.

But at the very same moment, a viciously cold dose of reality swung a sledgehammer into the back of my skull.

'Goddammit... I don't know a damn thing about martial arts, do I?'

Right.

I was a fraud who'd hung up a rotten plaque and called myself the sect leader of Cheonhae Gate. And this girl was my fool-of-the-year disciple, Number One, who'd swallowed the con hook, line, and sinker and walked right in.

A sect's disciple learns martial arts from their master. That ancient, obvious chain of cause and effect—the kind even an elementary schooler knows—I had completely forgotten, blinded by my dreams of a honey-sucking retirement.

Sword arts? No idea.

Fist techniques? No idea.

Footwork or lightness skills? Try leaping with this creaky spine and my disc pops clean out—we're calling an ambulance.

The extent of my martial knowledge was the clay-pot dishwashing method I'd honed over three months in Manbokru's kitchen and my onion-slicing knife work. That was it. All of it.

"Master...?"

When I stayed frozen and silent, Soyeon slowly lifted her head from the floor. Her eyes were swimming with anxiety.

"Is it... is it because my body is too weak... that I'm not qualified to learn martial arts...?"

"No, no! It's not that!"

I had to do damage control first. If I came clean here—'Actually, I don't know a single technique?'—not only would the dignity of my con artist persona crumble, the brand-new master-disciple relationship would collapse on the spot.

The brain cells of a ten-year wuxia veteran began spinning at Mach speed.

'Blade work and fist work are absolutely out. The moment I hand her a hilt and ask her to copy me, my whole con unravels.'

Which left exactly one option.

'Internal cultivation methods!'

Energy training. The invisible kind—strike a dignified pose, sit cross-legged, and just breathe. That was all it took.

Best of all, Soyeon was a sickly little girl with a cursed constitution. Rather than letting her run around the yard swinging a blade, having her sit quietly on the warm floor doing breathing exercises was a blessing ten thousand times over.

"Ahem!"

I let out a long, theatrical cough and clasped my hands behind my back like a master transcending the mundane world.

"Soyeon. What do you believe is the foremost virtue in mastering the martial path?"

Soyeon shook her head blankly.

"I don't know...."

"Foundation. A tree with rotted roots, no matter how splendid its blossoms, falls at the first gust of wind. Swing your fancy flash-and-technique nonsense a hundred days in a row—if the core is empty, it's nothing but a castle built on sand."

"Yes...!"

"You especially—you were born with a terrible cold qi lodged inside your body. Train recklessly and learn techniques in this state, and before you ever achieve anything, the meridians within you will rupture first."

Soyeon's face went chalk-white. She looked properly frightened.

"Th-then what should I do...?"

"Which is why I intend to first transmit the supreme breathing method of our main hall. You must empty your mind and practice the most fundamental of fundamentals: drawing the energy of heaven and earth into your body."

"Please teach me, Master!"

Good. Fully sold.

The problem was what, exactly, I was supposed to teach from here on out.

'...I'd have to have actually moved qi through a dantian at some point to know that, wouldn't I?'

As I broke out in a cold sweat, something flashed through my mind: the 'core breathing technique' and 'mindfulness meditation' I'd heard drilled into my ears ad nauseam by a physical therapist and endless YouTube videos back when I was trying to manage my chronic lower back pain.

Breathe into your belly. Release the tension. Let go of stray thoughts. At the very least, it was the safest product of modern medicine—it couldn't kill anybody.

"First, sit on the floor with your legs crossed. Full lotus if you can."

"Yes!"

Soyeon quickly settled herself on the dirt floor.

"Spine straight but relaxed. Let your shoulders drop. Now close your eyes, gently."

Soyeon squeezed her eyes shut.

"Not that hard. Close them comfortably. No tension in the eyelids."

"Ah... yes."

I sat down cross-legged across from her.

"Breathe in slowly through your nose."

SSSsss—

"Don't puff up your chest. Imagine the air being pushed deep, deep down into your lower belly."

Soyeon's flat little belly swelled outward, round and full.

"And breathe out through your mouth, thin and long."

Whooooo—

Good. Excellent abdominal breathing. Now came the part where I had to slather on a generous helping of wuxia-flavored seasoning.

"Three inches below your navel lies the Lower Dantian—the wellspring where countless streams of energy gather. When you breathe in, imagine the pure qi of heaven and earth flowing into that place."

"The Lower Dantian...."

The child concentrated with terrifying intensity, carving every syllable I uttered into her memory. It was honestly a little daunting.

"Don't try to seize the qi and cage it by force. Simply watch the flow of the breath and follow it, like water running its natural course."

SSSsss— whooooo—

Several breaths passed in steady rhythm. But then, after a while, Soyeon's brow began to crease in pain.

"Ngh... ugh...."

"What's wrong? Does something hurt?"

Eyes squeezed tight, Soyeon clutched at her chest with her small hands.

"Master... when I breathe deeply... something like a chunk of cold ice feels stronger inside my chest. It feels like this place is all clogged up... it's hard to breathe...."

'Ah, I'm screwed.'

Ever-Yin Severed Meridians. Had my abdominal breathing just poked the sleeping Yin qi awake?

'Should I tell her to stop right now?'

But stopping here might make the convulsion worse. And I had no internal energy to inject and melt the cold for her either.

'What do I do? What do I do? Tell her to push it out? Suppress it with force?'

No. Order a sickly child with zero internal energy to force her qi, and she'd cough up blood and die on the spot—it was obvious.

Just then, a line from an old psychology-therapy meditation video I'd watched once brushed across my mind.

Do not resist uncomfortable emotions and pain. Do not force a fight—observe them exactly as they are.

'Screw it. Save the girl first, figure it out after!'

I dropped my voice an entire octave in a panic and murmured:

"Soyeon. Listen to me very carefully."

"Hkk... yes...."

"Don't try to force that cold energy out. And don't fight to destroy it, either."

Soyeon's eyebrows trembled.

"Not... fight it...?"

"That's right. It's an energy that dwells within your own body. The more you fight it, the more it only grinds away at your meridians. Just let it flow. Like a single leaf drifting wherever the current takes it on the surface of a great river."

Gulping for air, Soyeon strained her ears toward my voice.

"The ocean never overflows, no matter how many thousands of rivers pour into it, and it never wavers. Think of your Lower Dantian as an endless sea. When the freezing water comes pouring in, simply open the sea's embrace and hold it, wide and accepting."

...Oh, hell.

Having said it out loud, this was genuinely an all-time legendary line. Ten years of wuxia novels had not been wasted on me.

"An ocean... like a wide ocean... I won't push it away...."

SSSsss—

Whooooo—

The ragged breaths that had been tearing out of Soyeon's lips lengthened and deepened, as if by magic. And then a miracle unfolded before my eyes.

The furrow of pain between the child's brows smoothed away, slow and gentle. Color began creeping back into her bloodless lips, and the bone-scraping rattle of her coughing stopped entirely. The ice-cold chill that had shrouded her whole body vanished in an instant, as though sucked down toward her lower belly.

'...Huh?'

I stared blankly at her face.

'Why did that actually work? Is this the placebo effect of modern medical breathing exercises?'

I had no idea why. But either way, she hadn't convulsed and coughed up blood, so this counted as a roaring success.

"Soyeon. That's enough for today."

At my words, Soyeon slowly lifted her eyelids. Her eyes were clearer and brighter than before.

"It's over already...?"

"Too much is as bad as too little. Overdo it and you'll fall into qi deviation instead."

"Yes, Master! I won't forget a single thing you taught me today! Cradle the ocean in my Lower Dantian, and never push the cold away—only embrace and accept it...!"

"...Right. Well, your memory's certainly excellent."

I couldn't recall saying anything quite that grand, but I nodded vaguely anyway.

The first lesson had passed without a hitch, fraud and all. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠My con hadn't been exposed, and the kid could breathe again—it couldn't have gone more perfectly.

'Maybe I've got a talent for swindling people.'

I dug an old cotton quilt out of a corner of the main hall and gave it to Soyeon. It shed puffs of dust, but it was the only blanket the rats hadn't chewed to ruin. For myself, I spread two layers of worn-out rush mats on the floor beside her and lay down.

"Master...."

"What now."

"If I sleep under such a fine quilt... then what about you, Master...?"

"A master's internal energy runs deep; cold means nothing to him. Stop talking and cover up."

It was a brazen, bald-faced lie. The mountain night air bit into the very joints of my bones. But even the most conscienceless fraud alive isn't enough of a piece of garbage to hand a twelve-year-old patient the rush mats and keep the cotton quilt for himself.

"And no more breathing exercises tonight, hear me? Just sleep, hard. You're exhausted."

"...Yes. Good night, Master."

"Right. Sleep."

The moment I closed my eyes, the exhaustion from Manbokru's dish pit and the mountain climb crashed over me all at once. Soothing the heavy ache in my lower back, I sank into a deep sleep almost immediately.

"..."

Darkness lay thick across the room.

Soyeon was wide awake inside the cotton quilt, eyes open and staring.

Her master had told her to sleep, so sleep she must. But it simply would not come.

Something was wrong.

Every night of her life, the moment darkness fell, the cold would begin at the tips of her fingers and toes, and a terrible pain—like an ice pick driven into the center of her chest—would grind on until dawn. Curling up shivering with her teeth chattering, wiping away her tears where her mother and father couldn't see, staring sleepless at the ceiling until morning: that had been Soyeon's ordinary night.

But right now—

She wasn't cold.

Soyeon wiggled her small fingers inside the quilt. It wasn't the hearth's warmth doing this.

From below her navel—from that deep place her master had called the Lower Dantian—a soft, gentle warmth she had never once felt in her life was bubbling up, pulse after pulse. And around that warmth, the cold energy circled meekly, obediently, like a school of fish swimming through a boundless sea.

'It doesn't hurt....'

Soyeon laid a careful hand on her chest. The lump of ice that had tormented her all her life was no longer some hideous monster—it was breathing, calm and easy, like a part of her own body.

'Do not push it away... embrace it, and hold it....'

Her master's voice from earlier rang clear and strong in her ears. Soyeon pushed back the quilt and quietly rose.

He'd told her not to overdo it. But she couldn't just let this wondrous sensation slip away. Just a little longer—only one more time, she wanted to breathe exactly the way her master had taught her.

Careful not to make a sound, Soyon folded her legs into a cross-legged seat. Then she laid both hands on her lower belly and closed her eyes.

SSSsss—

The breath didn't go to her chest. It was drawn straight down into her belly. And then the miracle happened.

The cold Yin qi that had run rampant, trapped in every blood vessel and joint of her body, began surging violently toward her Lower Dantian, pulled as if by a colossal whirlpool.

KWAAAAAH—!

The sound of a vast ocean roared through Soyeon's ears. Just as her master had taught, the child did not reject that enormous cold—she accepted it with her whole heart.

'My Lower Dantian... is the sea.'

SSSsss— whooooo—

With every cycle of breath, the runaway Yin qi of the Ever-Yin Severed Meridians finally formed one great, coherent stream and began revolving through her whole body along a steady, lawful orbit.

A pleasure like a blocked floodgate bursting open surged through her, setting every nerve alight.

"Nngh... cold...."

In the small hours before dawn, a terrible chill crushed every joint in my body and snapped my eyes open. I hauled the rush mats up to my chin. Useless.

Whooo.

Every exhale sent a plume of white steam billowing out like chimney smoke.

"What the... what's going on with this weather...?"

Chattering my teeth, I reached for the water bowl I'd set beside me.

Tap.

It rang with a clear, metallic chime. Not a skin of ice on top—the whole bowl was frozen solid to the bottom, like the Han River in deep January.

Sleep fled my body instantly.

Fine, mountain autumn nights get cold. But a bowl of water freezing solid inside a room? Does that make any sense at all?

I bolted upright and looked around—and immediately doubted my own eyes.

"...Huh?"

The hearth's embers were already out, frozen over beneath a coat of white frost. And the floor—

Across the entire dirt floor, pure white frost was spreading in every direction, splitting the ground in a web like a spider's silk. The cold climbing the walls had already crawled up past the rafters and the great main beam, blanketing them white.

And at the very center of that grotesque frozen zone—

SSSsss— whooooo—

Soyeon sat in a perfectly composed full lotus position. With every breath she drew and released, the frigid blue-white cold filling the room coiled and spiraled around her like a living imugi serpent.

CRACK—!

With a vicious sound of splitting earth, the cold pouring out of her small body whipped into a vortex, as if it would freeze the very air of the room solid.

The breathing I'd taught her.

The posture I'd taught her.

The ocean-and-leaf gibberish I'd spouted off the top of my head.

"..."

My jaw hung open wide enough to dislocate. After a long moment of sucking in useless gulps of air, crushed under shock and horror, a dazed murmur finally spilled out of my mouth.

"...Why did she actually go and awaken?"