The Shadowless Heart Method
By the time the sun climbed high overhead and the last traces of dawn had vanished, Jang Muhwi arrived at his family home in Uncheon County, Qinghai.
Uncheon County, nestled along the eastern shore of Qinghai Lake, was a region with a thriving merchant presence. During the warm seasons like this one, long processions of trading caravans and travelers stretched along the roads. The local specialty that colored these processions was the rapeseed flower. The eastern side of the lake enjoyed distinct seasons, and in spring the fields blazed with petals so bright they dazzled the eye.
Today was no exception. The rapeseed blossoms rippled and danced on the breeze like golden waves.
Jang Muhwi had been walking slowly, savoring the view, when he suddenly stopped. His gaze had fixed on the Jang family signboard hanging above the gate. It had been a long time since he last stood before his own home.
Seven years?
No. It felt even longer since he had last looked upon that main gate.
At that moment Cheolwoo pointed excitedly toward the sky.
“Wow, young master, look! It’s raining flowers from heaven. Something good must be coming this year.”
“So it seems,” Jang Muhwi replied with a small nod.
In Qinghai there was an old belief that rapeseed petals carried omens of fortune. It was only natural for the petals to be swept away by the wind, yet the people here held that luck gathered wherever the blossoms collected and fell.
Jang Muhwi watched the petals swirl around the family grounds, then reached into his robes. Inside lay the spiritual herb he had gained thanks to Wi Gunak. The time had come to find a proper heart method.
His steps quickened with sudden purpose.
“Young master, why the rush?” Cheolwoo called after him. “It won’t be too late if you catch your breath before going in.”
“We’re going now. There’s no time to waste.”
At Jang Muhwi’s decisive tone, Cheolwoo could only tilt his head in confusion as he hurried to follow.
Jang Muhwi stood before a dilapidated warehouse. From its weathered appearance, it would not have been surprising if rain leaked straight through the roof. He quietly lifted his eyes to the signboard.
Somugak.
It was the repository that held the most basic manuals of the Jang family’s martial arts. Though the name suggested importance, members of the family simply called it the Waste Pavilion—a place where useless techniques and discarded items were tossed together. In short, it was a graveyard of objects that were neither truly valuable nor completely worthless. That was Somugak.
A single guard stood dozing in front of the building, head nodding like a broken doll. When he noticed Jang Muhwi, he jolted upright.
“W-who goes there?”
“I am the second son, Jang Muhwi.”
“Young master… what brings you to a place like this?”
“Does one need a special reason to visit a repository? Is it not obviously for training?”
“But in the Waste—er, Somugak—there are hardly any worthwhile manuals…”
“The foundation is important in every martial art.”
“Well… that is true.”
The guard nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. Jang Muhwi, however, paid him no mind and simply pushed open the door.
Creak.
The heavy door swung open with surprising smoothness. The warehouse might be crumbling, but the door itself had been built to last.
As Jang Muhwi moved to step inside, Cheolwoo grabbed his sleeve in panic.
“Young master, why choose this place? You defeated Wi Gunak in a duel. Just mentioning that would have earned you the key to the Jangmu Pavilion. So why come to this… this dump?”
The Jangmu Pavilion was the highest repository, reserved only for those who had rendered great service. Yet Jang Muhwi had concealed his accomplishments and taken the key to this forgotten corner under the pretense of simple training. The injustice of it made Cheolwoo’s voice tremble.
Jang Muhwi smiled at his loyal servant.
“A tall building must stand on solid foundations.”
“Even so, this place is…”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Enough. Go rest now.”
Without waiting for further protest, Jang Muhwi turned away. Cheolwoo could only sigh behind him.
“Haa… Young master…”
“I can still hear you.”
With those final words Jang Muhwi closed the door.
Creak.
He quickly barred it from within so no one could follow, then lit a lantern. As the dim light filled the dusty interior, he let out a long breath.
“Now it begins.”
There was a reason people called it the Waste Pavilion. Nothing here looked remotely valuable. Jang Muhwi slowly climbed the stairs to the upper floor. From this point on, the task would demand not cleverness but sheer persistence.
According to his past-life memories, the perfect heart method for dissolving the spiritual herb was hidden somewhere in this very building. The technique he had practiced before regression had clear limits to its growth. Better to slowly dig a pond than to hastily carve a small gourd. His meridians had not yet been fully opened. If his intuition was correct, the manual would be perfectly concealed somewhere within these walls.
Jang Muhwi set down the bundle slung over his right shoulder. Inside were fasting pills, dried rations, and—unknown even to Cheolwoo—a hammer and chisel. He lifted the tools with practiced ease and began examining the surroundings.
A day later, Jang Muhwi stood with the corners of his mouth curved upward, gazing at a single manual.
The complete Muyoung Simbeop!
Jang Muhwi immediately sat in lotus position. In the original timeline this manual would only have been found three years from now, when the building collapsed. It would have been ruined by rain, leaving only its name behind. At that time his father—the family head—had sighed and confessed that discovering it even one year earlier might have altered the clan’s fate.
Jang Muhwi swiftly examined the formulas.
“Who can measure the height of the heavens…”
The author had clearly been no ordinary martial artist. Similar cryptic lines filled the preceding pages. An average warrior might have spent many sleepless nights trying to decipher their meaning.
But Jang Muhwi knew better. This was not ordinary text—it was a cipher. To read the true manual, one had to overlap the first and second pages and hold them to a light.
Those who learn this heart method can contain the heavens. How could a small vessel contain the heavens? First, guide the energy within the dantian…
Jang Muhwi’s eyes widened. The greatest feature of the Muyoung Simbeop was its ability to harmonize with any type of energy. The words were simple, yet their implication was profound. Normally, the qi of a Taoist sect and a Buddhist sect would clash violently. This technique, however, allowed any subsequent method to be added without conflict. In essence, it let the practitioner claim the techniques and energies of entirely different schools as their own. If one stretched the idea further, it could even transform yin and yang energies into one’s personal power.
The difficulty lay in planting the seed. The first requirement was to erase all previously accumulated qi. No one was better suited for that task than Jang Muhwi, whose meridians had remained unopened until the age of eighteen. In a way, his previous slow progress had been the very beginning of this lucky encounter. Had he perfectly mastered another heart method, the Muyoung Simbeop would have been forever beyond his reach. It was a technique only those whose vessel had not yet been formed could learn.
Jang Muhwi memorized every line with grave focus. Once the formulas were committed to memory, he assumed the lotus position once more and connected every remaining strand of energy in his body to the Baihui point at the crown of his head. This was the first stage.
He closed his eyes and began circulating his qi according to the method. The process resembled a master noodle maker drawing out a single thin strand, lengthening it, folding it, and lengthening it again. The strands grew thinner yet more numerous. Like that skilled artisan, Jang Muhwi continued the delicate work.
The task took far longer than expected. If a strand snapped, he would have to begin the entire accumulation process again. Failure now could cost him at least half a year—time during which countless future opportunities would pass him by. Jang Muhwi poured every ounce of concentration into the circulation.
His sense of time blurred. Moonlight shifted beyond the window slits many times, yet he remained unaware. Four strands… eight… twelve… In his mind only the count of energy threads existed.
At last the moving qi came to a halt. The moment had arrived.
Jang Muhwi drove the energy into every meridian across his body. The strands were so fine they could not be seen, yet they pierced through his channels like invisible blades.
Swish, swish, swish!
Though thin, the energy was not weak. What began as a faint current swelled as it traveled, tearing through his meridians. Jang Muhwi furrowed his brow at the searing pain, but he kept his lips sealed. He was not foolish enough to release a hard-won lucky encounter. The greater the agony, the tighter he pressed his mouth shut, guarding the circulating energy as fiercely as the imperial palace guarded its gates. No impure qi was allowed in, and not a single speck was permitted to escape.
Jang Muhwi was no stranger to such torment. The humiliation of weakness had always hurt far worse than any physical pain.
Just as he tried to steady his mind, his body suddenly swelled. A violent roar erupted from within.
Bang!
How much time had passed?
Jang Muhwi slowly opened his eyes and spread his hands before him. They looked unchanged on the surface, yet he had undergone a transformation at the level of Reconstitution. Every trace of his former martial arts had been wiped away completely. His current state resembled that of a newborn child who had undergone full marrow washing. More precisely, his entire body—not merely his dantian—had become a vessel ready to hold qi.
Now it was time to fill that empty storehouse.
Jang Muhwi retrieved the spiritual herb from his robes and swallowed it whole. Opening the path with the heart method demanded tremendous energy.
Two hours later, he opened his eyes again and exhaled softly.
“Eighty percent was the limit? Hoo.”
Twenty percent of the herb’s energy had escaped absorption. Considering the circumstances, the efficiency was remarkable. Any other heart method would have managed less than half—and the results would have been far more disastrous.
Jang Muhwi rose, carefully wrapped the manual in the oilcloth he had brought, and gathered the remaining fasting pill fragments and tools. Even Cheolwoo had not known about the hammer and chisel. He tied the bundle neatly, slung it over his shoulder, and walked lightly toward the entrance.
His footsteps seemed almost buoyant. It was not merely an illusion—the footprints left in the thick dust were markedly different from those he had made upon entering.
Jang Muhwi paused for a moment and murmured to himself.
“How long was I in here? The invitation for the Dragon Gate Assembly should be arriving soon…”