The Divine Art — Sunflower Manual (1)

The next morning.

He was stripping off his clothes to wash when the door banged open and Uncle Noh barged in.

"Jin Myeong! Time to eat—! Kh! What is that? This smell? That stench in the middle of the night was you?"

The instant the door opened, Uncle Noh's face crumpled. He clapped a hand over his nose.

"What smell, Uncle Noh?"

"In the dead of night I thought a whole procession of dung-carriers was marching past. The whole neighborhood reeked of rotting shit — I barely slept a wink. And now I walk in here and it's coming from your room! What did you do? Did you take a dump in here?"

"I'm not a child. I wouldn't do that. Maybe the smell soaked into my clothes when I went out yesterday? Or maybe it's sweat? As you can see, I did a bit of morning exercise."

"Ugh! You went to bed without washing? You come back from a place like that, sweat all over yourself, and the stench could kill a man. But you… why does your face look so much better after a single night?"

"Better? I'm eighteen. If I woke up looking haggard after a decent night's sleep, that would be the real problem."

"Fair enough. Hurry up, wash, and come eat. You're going to the Madam's today, aren't you?"

"Yes. I plan to stay the night at home."

"Got it. Wash up already. Ugh! That's vicious. Vicious! And air the place out! The customers will all run for the hills!"

"Yes, sir!"

Uncle Noh slammed the door and fled as if he couldn't bear another second in the room.

The stench Uncle Noh had mistaken for rotting dung was the work of the Sunflower Manual.

Jin Myeong had circulated the cultivation method until dawn. As a result, the art's power had forced every impurity in his body out through the skin — and the smell had been unspeakable. That was also why his complexion had cleared.

"The foundation is laid. I expected something, but I never imagined it would be like this."

The true Sunflower Manual, experienced firsthand, had surpassed every expectation.

In a single night the framework of his dantian had taken shape, and the impurities clogging the Twelve Regular Meridians and the Eight Extraordinary Meridians had been scoured clean.

It was astonishing. It was a miracle.

"No wonder people stake their lives on a divine art."

A cultivation method that could form a dantian overnight? There was only one under heaven: the Eternal Demon Blossom — the guardian divine art of the White Lotus Sect, now calling itself the Sacred Cult — better known as the Heavenly Demon Divine Art.

A martial art that could scour every last residue from the meridians in a single night? Likewise, only one: the Tendon-Washing Classic of Bodhidharma, founding patriarch of a thousand-year Shaolin.

And even those were possible only when the practitioner's talent was extraordinary.

Yet the Sunflower Manual had accomplished the feats of both peerless arts at once — regardless of his aptitude.

How could he not be amazed?

Widening cramped meridians, opening blocked channels, completing the Lesser and Greater Heavenly Cycles — those would still take time. But even this much was a staggering achievement.

"At this rate, I'll accumulate internal energy ten times faster."

The baseline for measuring the speed of energy accumulation was the most primitive breathing method. The secret inner arts of the great orthodox sects — Shaolin, Wudang, and their like — typically ran about five times that speed. The famed Heavenly Demon Divine Art was generally held to be seven times. The Sun Moon Sect's version of the Sunflower Manual sat at five or six times, rivaling the Heavenly Demon Divine Art itself, which was how eunuchs like him had reached Peak Realm with such ease.

The original was in another dimension entirely.

The problem was that this was not the whole story.

"It's not as if there are no drawbacks, though. Hmm…"

He scooped water from the tub and poured it over himself, thinking.

Unlike the Sun Moon Sect's version, there was no requirement of castration, no need to take regular doses of medicine. There was no warning that he would fall into qi deviation from a rampage of yin energy before a single Jiazi had passed.

But the art had been created so that a child born intersex ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could choose one sex and live as that sex — designed from the first to harmonize and maximize the yin and yang they had been born with. For an ordinary person like him to practice it, there was a condition.

"I have to obtain Extreme Yin, then?"

Before his body reached the peak of its growth at twenty-five, or before the cultivation method reached 7-Star, he would have to take in a spiritual medicine or energy of Extreme Yin nature.

A woman, conversely, would need to take in Extreme Yang to harmonize with the yin energy that would otherwise run wild.

Dongfang Guihua, the first to master the art, had been born intersex, and so had needed neither medicine nor energy. The records simply stated that by practicing the Sunflower Manual, she had escaped the fate of an intersex body at twenty-five and chosen to live as a woman.

Put simply: when an ordinary person practiced the art, the imbalance of yin and yang formed in the body by their inborn sex and the laws of nature had to be resolved with a spiritual medicine or a matching energy. The Sunflower Manual's power, after all, was born from the harmony and maximization of yin and yang.

If he failed to obtain that medicine or energy, he would have to stop accumulating internal force, and the Sunflower Manual's achievement could not pass 7-Star.

"Suddenly I feel exhausted."

7-Star was the point the creator had set as the threshold where a martial art's true power began to unfold. It was no exaggeration to say that every martial artist's fate hinged on whether they reached 7-Star in the art they practiced. For a martial artist, 7-Star in the cultivation method was the first gate they would ever face.

Which meant, in the end, that he had to obtain Extreme Yin by any means necessary.

"So the Sun Moon Sect's version of the Sunflower Manual was inevitable."

The art's power was maddeningly desirable — but spiritual medicines and energies of Extreme Yin or Extreme Yang were not exactly a pot of bone broth you could simmer whenever you liked. They were priceless treasures that only a once-in-a-millennium stroke of fortune could deliver. With no way to obtain them, someone had taken a perfectly good martial art and twisted it.

Tampering with an art created by a grandmaster without equal in all of history — of course every kind of side effect had followed.

"Damn it. And where am I supposed to find one of those?"

If the Sunflower Manual's achievement had already passed 7-Star, of course, neither medicine nor energy would be beyond his reach. When you were strong enough, what couldn't you do? The law is distant; the fist is near. Across every age and every land, the one truth that ran through the world was the law of the jungle.

If it came to that, he could simply go find someone who had what he needed and settle it. But being told to find it in a state where he couldn't pass 7-Star — that was a problem with no answer.

Did he have money right now? Did he have power—?

Wait. Wait. Power. Power…?

Something flashed through his mind — and then:

"Jang Jinmyeong! Get out here! The food's getting cold!"

Uncle Noh had run out of patience and come looking for him again.

Jin Myeong set the thought aside. Food first. He could think on the way to Yuwol Pavilion.

"Coming!"

As the old saying went: even Mount Emei is best enjoyed after a meal.

After breakfast, Jin Myeong left Uncle Noh's noodle shop and set out for Yuwol Pavilion.

He sorted the situation as he walked.

"The closest one is in the imperial palace, true enough."

He knew that. The problem was that getting his hands on it was another matter entirely.

The treasury built by the Ming Taizu, the Hongwu Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang, was no Shaolin Scripture Pavilion, no Sacred Treasure Hall of the Sacred Cult.

First: nobody knew where it was. Even the emperor — the Son of Heaven himself — knew only the method of finding the location, not the location.

The idea of raiding an imperial palace ringed by the imperial army and permanently garrisoned by Peak Realm masters was a suicide attempt in all but name. And even if, by some miracle, he infiltrated it — how was he supposed to find a treasury whose whereabouts not a single living soul knew?

Second: if even the emperor administered it without knowing its precise location, how ferocious would the perimeter security be? He would stake his life that it was plastered with mechanisms and formations capable of sending even a Divine Transformation Realm master straight to the Yellow Springs. A man of Zhu Yuanzhang's temper would have built it with the intent of destroying it together with any thief rather than let it be stolen.

"It's in there, no question. But for now it's a painted cake."

That the treasure was in the imperial house was certain. When Zhu Yuanzhang drove out the Yuan and ascended as the new master of the realm, the tribute and gifts that poured in from every direction had been endless.

The existence of the spiritual medicines and treasures was not in doubt. The real problem was something else.

"Honestly, as an uncle — he should have soothed his nephew along. Hah…"

The problem was that, in that situation, the Yongle Emperor had launched the Jingnan Campaign and dragged his nephew, the Jianwen Emperor, down from the throne.

Would an uncle who had raised a rebellion have been handed the location of the treasury? Of course not.

In the years Jin Myeong had watched four Sons of Heaven — Yongle, Hongxi, Xuande, and Zhengtong — he had never heard so much as a rumor that Yingtianfu's treasury had been found. The Forbidden City treasury that would be built a few years from now had been constructed along with the palace itself, and filled with treasures Yongle had gathered on his own.

"It would be simple enough if I just entered the palace and waited."

Which meant he could strike when, three years from now, the capital was relocated and the congratulatory envoys came flooding in. To do that, he would need a foothold inside the palace — which meant, in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the end, sitting the imperial examinations: civil, military, or miscellaneous.

The civil exams? The miscellaneous exams? How many years would it take to prepare and pass?

The military exams? Those, he had a real chance at. But he had no connections. Pass, and he would almost certainly be packed off to the northern frontier to suffer like a dog.

That was a problem for further thought.

"Slowly. For now, train the Sunflower Manual and build the body."

While he was thinking, he arrived at Yuwol Pavilion.

The unlit blue-green lanterns. The tall, five-story hall. The last time he had seen it was after he had become a eunuch, in the previous life — a full thirty-two years ago.

Morning. The air of Yuwol Pavilion, its household still sunk in deep sleep, was hushed and lonesome.

Yuwol Pavilion was a courtesan house where women sold their talents — not a night's pleasure, but song and dance, music, poetry, calligraphy, and painting. It was also where the Madam and the Nanny who had raised him from infancy still lived.

It was morning, so the older sisters, the aunts, and the men who had come to the house would all still be heavy with sleep. He killed his presence and moved with care.

Someone, however, had been waiting for him.

The voice that reached his ears was a voice he had not heard in thirty-two years. His Nanny's voice.

He lifted his head toward the sound. Her face was in the window of her room on the second floor. Exhaustion sat plain on her features, but she was smiling faintly, as if the sight of him had made her glad.

"Nanny!"

The cry left him before he knew it. He took the stairs at a run, two at a time, and burst into her room.

"Nanny!"

"Have you eaten? Did my Myeong have breakfast?"

"I ate at Uncle Noh's. How did you know I was coming?"

"Know? You always came at this hour, so I was watching for you. Two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days apart and my Myeong got even more handsome."

"…Nanny. Nanny."

He pulled her into a tight embrace as she turned his face this way and that, studying him. His chest was tight. Something hot surged up his throat.

It had been so long. Far too long.

Ashamed of what he had become as a eunuch, he had stopped coming, had forced himself to forget — and the years he had spent that way had been far too many.

Long ago, not long after he had vanished without a word, the Nanny had fallen ill of a sickness of the heart. A few years into his life as a eunuch, he had sent a subordinate to inquire, learned she was unwell, and gathered an armful of the finest medicines of the day to have them delivered. Not long after that she had passed from the world, and he had stood at a distance watching her funeral bier go by, and wept until he could weep no more.

To see her now, healthy — the tears nearly came in a flood.

"Myeong? Are you crying? Did something happen? Hm?"

"No. No. I'm just happy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to see you."

He held the worried woman close and looked out the window at the sky.

He gave thanks to whatever god had given him back this life — a eunuch's life that, looking back, had been nothing but regret.

Buddha. Jade Emperor. You have my deepest thanks. Should we meet in the far future, I'll pour you a cup of the finest wine.

For a moment he stayed like that. Then, together with the regret and self-reproach of all those years lived without his manhood and without his family, a slow, seething anger uncoiled in one corner of his chest.

Those sons of bitches.

Rage at the bastards who had heaped humiliation on him until he had no choice but to become a eunuch. To think he had forgotten them.

I'd forgotten those bastards were still alive.

He had returned thirty-two years. They would be alive and well. One by one, he inscribed their names, stroke by careful stroke, in the kill list he kept in his heart — alongside Wang Zhen and She Ping.

Wang Zhen and She Ping were bastards who would have to be dealt with properly, given time. These ones were different. These were men he might run into at any moment. Perhaps even today.

Happiness and fury were still crossing in him when—

Wait. Nanny… why?

He caught an anomaly from her and his mind snapped sharp.

From the Nanny — a woman he had believed, all his life, to be a frail and ordinary woman — he could feel internal energy.

That vivid sensation. The movement of true qi.

Internal energy… from Nanny?