You've Truly Recovered
"You've truly recovered."
Sammae Jinhwa is a realm reachable only at the Entry into Divinity stage—a state where one can conjure flames with bare hands. It's utterly impossible with unstable inner power or a shaky dantian.
Just as Ryeon's heart warmed with quiet joy while burning the incense and clasping her hands together.
You have arrived at an ancient temple for the first time.
You may receive counsel.
A tinkling ding-dong sound rang out repeatedly, startling her eyes wide open. The faint smoke from the incense spread out like a sheet of white paper, and then letters boldly appeared upon it.
'Receive counsel upon arriving at an ancient temple?'
A list of ancient monasteries flashed through Ryeon's mind.
'Does that mean if I visit Wudang or Huashan...'?
Thrilled at the thought of what messages she might hear from each one, more letters slowly emerged from the thinning smoke.
The shadow of blood cannot be avoided.
The days of rain will be long.
Expecting some grand revelation, she gripped her hands tightly and waited, but silence reigned. Closing or opening her eyes only made the letters sharper.
'Is that... it?'
The letters scattered hastily, then reformed.
Always carry the light forged by time.
'Is that really... all?'
The letters pitifully dispersed like fluttering ash.
Everything had been fine from buying the incense at Binggung until leaving Hangzhou. But just before reaching the canal, when they stopped the carriage for a brief rest...
Danmok Cheon-gi and Danmok Hyeon-u stepped down from the lead carriage, shaking their heads as they headed toward the rear baggage cart.
'What's that? Something in the back?'
Puzzled, Ryeon craned her neck out the carriage window. Inside, Hwaryun suddenly furrowed his brow.
"You left Bi at the estate, right?"
"Bi?"
The sudden mention of her little brother creased Ryeon's forehead. She wanted to check the surroundings, but sensing presences was inner power territory—beyond her reach.
'Ah! Expanding my spiritual sense fully might be tough, but what if I do it faintly, spread thin...?'
After a moment's thought, Ryeon tentatively released her spiritual energy outward, very lightly, reaching far.
Seeping into people's breaths and dispersing, she counted them—until one familiar presence stood out sharply.
"B-Bi... Danmok Bi!"
Before she could even register sensing without inner power, Ryeon shrieked her brother's name and leaped from the carriage.
By then, Danmok Cheon-gi had trudged to the baggage cart and yanked open one of the crates.
"Waaah! Waaaaah!"
From within came a scream, and out tumbled a pale-faced child—Danmok Bi.
As everyone stared aghast between the boy and Cheon-gi, Danmok Bi tried to right himself but staggered like a startled mouse.
"Bi!"
"Oh my god!"
The child had been curled in that cramped crate for hours; no wonder his limbs were numb. Bystanders rushed over, helping him stretch out and lie down. While they massaged his arms and legs and fetched water, Ryeon hurried to his side, stroking his forehead repeatedly.
"You idiot! How could you sneak after us!"
"Hiiing... Nui..."
"Anywhere hurt?"
Danmok Bi shook his head vigorously. Ryeon thinned her spiritual energy to the utmost, blending it into his breaths, and color slowly returned to his face. As the crowd's expressions eased,
Danmok Cheon-gi, who had watched the commotion, finally spoke.
"I wanted to see how long ye could endure. Were ye plannin' to ride in that crate all the way to Namjikrye Castle?"
His voice held incredulity, anger, and perhaps a hint of admiration.
Danmok Bi sprang up, clutching Ryeon's hem, and shouted,
"I-I wanna go to Kyunghang Yunryeon with Nui too!"
"If ye couldn't accept the adults' words, ye should've persuaded us there. Defyin' orders and chasin' blindly?"
'Aigoo.'
Ryeon wrapped an arm around Bi's shoulders. He flinched at his grandfather's thunderous tone but didn't cower.
"G-Grandchild's still a baby! Can't argue well with words!"
Ryeon's face flushed crimson. Her own frequent excuse, blurted by Bi.
'That's why they say you can't even drink cold water in front of kids...'
As Ryeon inwardly shed tears, Cheon-gi snorted in disbelief.
"Aye, that's why we left ye behind—ye're still a babe."
"Body's baby, but heart... heart's all grown up!"
Snickers erupted nearby—failed attempts to stifle laughter.
Unable to scold his grandson publicly, Cheon-gi sternly led Bi into the carriage, emerging moments later. No sounds had come from within, but Bi's eyes were red from crying, though he tried to act composed stepping out.
That composure lasted until he met Ryeon's gaze—then he sniffled and threw himself into her arms.
"Grandpa scolded you hard?"
Face buried in her embrace, Bi nodded frantically, sniffling, then forced back his tears.
"Said from now on, always ask permission first..."
"Right! Can't sneak off without telling. Mother's worried sick. She might be crying, unable to sleep."
Bi's face paled instantly. Ryeon rubbed his cheeks and pulled out paper, brush, and ink she'd brought.
"Let's write Mother a letter quick. Say you snuck out and it's wrong, but we'll go safely and come back fine."
"Y-Yes!"
But after huddling in a corner half the day, Bi's hands trembled too much—Ryeon wrote for him.
Meanwhile, Danmok Hyeon-yo was wiping her face in dismay.
"That outfit... what are we to do with it..."
Bi's neat martial robes, smuggled from the estate, were crumpled beyond repair, lacking a proper coat. Ryeon wrapped him in her own garment, but it was baggy, requiring cords wound around.
* * *
Fry thick pork with rind, fat, and meat once. Then stew long in ginger, spices, rich soy milk, soy sauce, and clear rice wine. Pair with blanched vegetables for freshness and a cup of baekju—nothing in the world to envy.
Glossed from slow cooking, the crackling rind chewy, fat melting on the tongue, tender meat yielding softly— a delicacy of the heavens.
"Head Chef! Head Chef!"
The white-haired elder, Baekdam, mid-bite, bellowed toward the kitchen. A figure in a white headscarf rushed out.
"Wh-what is it? Something wrong...?"
"You! Why linger in this backwater instead of heading to Beijing at once!"
"Pardon?"
"Never in my life have I tasted dongpo pork finer than this—how can ye waste away in such a rural spot!"
"P-Pardon?"
"Pack yer bags now! To Beijing...!"
"Aigoo, honored guest. If you chase away Hangzhou's finest chef, what'll we live on?"
The innkeeper of Gyoryong Inn hurried over. The fuss praised the chef's skill, boosting dongpo pork orders—but ingredients ran out, halting more.
The innkeeper grinned broadly at promises of return visits.
The two elders feasted heartily on meat and wine, paid up, then summoned the chef once more: "No interest in Beijing? What of Tianshan?" Only when he fled to the kitchen, offering extra appetizers in thanks, did they relent.
"Hah... Damn fine cooking. Shall we just take him?"
Heukdam muttered, savoring lingering flavors. Baekdam shot him a reproachful glance.
"Drag folk off willy-nilly now, and what'll the Cult Leader say? We haven't even found a Young Cult Master candidate."
"Ha..."
Blissful during the pork, their faces darkened at business. Then twisted sourly.
Cheers erupted outside.
"What's the racket out there?"
"Looks like the local clan heading to Namgung estate for fun."
"Local clan? Danmok? Lucky bastards. Some of us are dying inside over one missing kid..."
Heukdam slumped, grumbling.
"That house some Danmok Cult or what? All this fuss for one procession?"