The Gate of the Heart
Jin Cheong-un quietly looked down at Jeong So-so, who had settled into her breathing and begun circulating her qi.
You've come this far on your own. Good.
But the limits were starting to show.
Only two matches remained between her and the championship, and the odds were high that both would be against disciples of the White Horse Martial Arts Academy.
I thought they'd rig the bracket to make us meet earlier than this… Either they're sloppy, or there's something strangely fair about them at all the odd moments.
Waaahaaa!
A cheer erupted from the crowd. He turned toward the sparring platform and saw a young man subdue his opponent in a heartbeat and advance to the finals.
"As expected of the White Horse Academy. Truly a lesson to behold."
"Thank you."
The young man offered a courteous bow, then turned away. It lasted barely an instant—but Jin Cheong-un caught the moment his gaze slid toward their group.
"Looks like external arts alone won't cut it much longer."
At his murmur, Jeong So-ryong's eyes went wide.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean there are finally some real ones showing up at this stage."
A great school was a great school, evidently—the White Horse disciples were genuinely a cut above. With a bit of exaggeration, they wouldn't have been out of place among the disciples of a major sect.
"Then… are you saying she has no chance of winning?"
"Hm? Why on earth would she have no chance?"
"If she's falling behind in internal energy *and* external technique…"
"There's still one thing left, isn't there?"
One thing?
Don't tell me—
"Her mindset? But willpower and mental strength… they don't actually exert any real force."
"It's not that, So-ryong. Whew!"
Jeong So-so finished her circulation and let out a long breath.
"Noona. You okay?"
"Peachy! Would you go fill this with water? It's empty."
"I'll be right back. Just a moment."
Only after Jeong So-ryong had vanished into the distance did she finally let out her pent-up breath.
"Hoooooh."
Jin Cheong-un watched her catch her breath for a moment, then said, tossing the words out carelessly, "We'll need to add more endurance training."
"…You're saying *that* right now?"
"You want me to stop?"
The words slid in like a hook, and Jeong So-so stared at him blankly. Then her eyes flared.
"This is a trap! You're about to launch into the mindset speech again!"
"…"
"I will *never* fall for it again!"
Unbelievable. Now even worrying about her gets me flak.
Jin Cheong-un said, unbothered, "You won't be able to use the trick I taught you against your next opponent. It'll be rough."
Jeong So-so froze mid-motion.
"Is it that bad?"
"It's that bad."
"…Alright then! This time I'm going to pull it off no matter what!"
She thrust her fist into the air, burning with resolve. At the sight of it, Jin Cheong-un's eyes widened slightly. Then a small smile slipped across his face—a smile so faint that neither Jeong So-so nor even he himself noticed it.
"Hm? Pull off what?"
Jeong So-ryong had returned with the water. She took the container from her brother and grinned.
"Well, So-ryong, your big sister thought the Master just said 'mindset, mindset' to torment us."
"Huh? It wasn't?"
Are these two for real?
Jeong So-so shook her head.
"Nope. Turns out it wasn't."
"Wasn't?"
"Turns out there was a reason we trained all three of the dantian arts. Just watch—I'll show you this round."
The moment she finished speaking and lifted the water to drink, the container vanished from before her eyes with a whoosh.
"Eh?"
Jin Cheong-un, container in hand, clicked his tongue.
"Tsk, tsk. Even plain water has its order of precedence, child. To think you'd drink a drop before offering one to your master."
"But… I was mid-tournament…"
"Honestly. A person should learn to be a decent human being *before* learning martial arts. A decent human being. Mmm. Water tastes good. There you go."
"…"
Only then did Jeong So-so grumble under her breath and drink her fill. As Jin Cheong-un wiped his mouth, his eyes deepened for an instant.
Am I imagining it?
In the Central Plains, clear water was precious enough that a strange scent or a taste of earth was nothing worth remarking on.
Well, the countryside ruffians did dirty the rivers enough.
The muddy taste apparently hadn't fully washed out yet. Jin Cheong-un lost interest at once, yawned, and slumped back into his chair.
And then—
"Kwak Yang of the White Horse Academy!"
"Jeong So-so of the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy!"
The semifinal began.
Kwak Yang ascended the platform with the swagger of a victor and gazed idly ahead.
So you managed to crawl this far after all.
There was Jeong So-so. Where he stood pristine, she was a disheveled mess—long hair soaked through with sweat, a face hollowed by exhaustion, her uniform caked with dust in every place a hard-fought match had thrown her down.
Well, honestly, I'll grant her that much.
But still.
Tradition is tradition: everyone bleeds their way through this tournament, and the White Horse Academy takes the crown.
He smirked and spoke.
"Kwak Yang of the White Horse. An honor."
"Jeong So-so of the Cheongun Martial Arts Academy. I look forward to learning from you."
"Hm. You'd better learn *something*, then."
Jeong So-so blinked.
"Sorry—what was that?"
"I felt bad for underestimating you, truth be told, so I was hoping to go easy on you…"
Kwak Yang squared his shoulders and grinned.
"But the Vice-Director gave orders. Told me to fight you rough and that you'd understand."
"…"
Jeong So-so stared at him for a long, blank moment. Then her brow creased faintly, and she muttered under her breath,
"The hell did he just say. Annoying."
She looked at Kwak Yang as though he were something smeared on her shoe.
"You're only talking like that to provoke me, right? You don't normally talk like that, do you?"
"…?"
"I'm saying this because you remind me of my little brother, so take it as advice—don't do that around other people. Anyone who hears it will curse you out for real. Got it?"
Kwak Yang, momentarily dumbfounded by what he was hearing, had his expression twist.
"Y-you insolent—!"
Thoom!
He drew his energy up to its peak. A stir ran through the crowd at once.
"Whoa! To reach that stage of power already!"
Kwak Yang savored the murmur, curling the corners of his mouth, then ground his teeth.
"I won't be holding back because you're a woman. Brace yourself."
"Oh, please do."
Jeong So-so's eyes gleamed.
"That way, when you lose, you won't be able to make excuses."
She raised her sword and exhaled, long and slow.
Focus.
Calm the excitement. Breathe deep and long. Feel the harmony of internal and external arts. Lift your head. Look at your opponent.
Through her qi-sense, his formidable internal energy pressed against her. Even beside her worn-out body, his stamina looked abundant.
And what do I have ahead of me?
Her mindset. The thing her master had emphasized as much as internal energy and external technique alike.
"Honestly speaking, So-so, your talent is merely average."
Before teaching her the secret, her master had begun by scraping her raw to the bone.
"But there is exactly one thing about you that's exceptional."
Her mindset. Jeong So-so had grumbled back—what could willpower alone possibly accomplish? But her master had only shaken his head.
"Of course, for ordinary people, that's true enough."
"But martial artists are different."
The human body held three dantians. The lower dantian, the sea of qi, where internal energy was stored. The middle dantian, the root of the body and of the external arts. And the upper dantian, dwelling in the brain, the residence of the soul—the seat of mind and spirit.
"A warrior's will carries qi within it."
At times in the Jianghu, sheer killing intent alone had crushed an opponent, had broken the will to fight before a single blow landed. A martial artist who ascended to the higher realms could display abilities beyond the domain of men—feats of the divine. That, precisely, was the power of the upper dantian.
"Of course, even masters counted among the finest in the Jianghu can't truly master the upper dantian, so it's beyond you for now."
"But you can imitate it."
"You'd better be grateful. This is the secret of secrets—the one thing your master doesn't teach just anyone."
"Are you ready?!"
And in that instant, the clamor of the tournament swept over the master's teaching like a waking dream dissolving into morning light.
"Yes."
Jeong So-so leveled her wooden sword.
Kwak Yang snorted.
"I'll yield the first move."
She didn't refuse. He wasn't an opponent worth spending pointless pride on.
Sliide.
Jeong So-so slowly settled into the middle guard. The opening form of the Drifting Cloud Sword Art—utterly ordinary, a stance Kwak Yang had seen from her a dozen times already.
And yet in that moment, a chill crawled up his spine.
What is this? What's with that concentration…?
Then—
Tah-at!
Jeong So-so's wooden sword came flying, cleaving the air.
"Hup!"
Kwak Yang, caught off guard for a breath, hastily raised his sword to block.
Taa-ak!
For all its momentum, the force that arrived through the blade was unimpressive. After an exchange of three or four strikes, tension still taut in his shoulders, Kwak Yang let out a hollow laugh.
What was I even worried about?
Of course. What could those spindly arms and that feeble internal energy possibly accomplish?
"Hngh!"
Drawing one deep breath, Kwak Yang unleashed his sword at full power.
KWAANG!
The air cracked with a concussive boom as Jeong So-so's sword was flung wide. Into the opening thus laid bare, he drove his blade without mercy.
Paa-ang!
Jeong So-so barely dragged her sword back in time to deflect it.
Pu-eong! Ta-da-dak! Kwaang!
A squall of sword strikes came howling down. All she could do was stagger backward, step by teetering step, deflecting each blow by the skin of her teeth.
Chee-eong!
In an instant, the arm gripping her sword was wrenched violently aside. The gap in strength was such that she couldn't even block or redirect properly anymore.
Admiration burst from below the platform.
"Heh heh! The White Horse disciple is putting on quite a show for the tournament!"
"Oh dear. That's enough, child! You did well—come on down!"
"Well, of course. The White Horse Academy is simply different!"
The spectators and the academy directors phrased it differently, but every last one of them was speaking of Jeong So-so's defeat. The difference in level was, quite literally, that stark.
Each clash cost her several steps of ground. Half the time she couldn't react at all, took the blows full-on, swallowed groan after groan as she swayed.
The outcome looked as obvious as fire. Surely it was.
And yet—
What is this?
Kwak Yang, facing her, felt an anxiety he couldn't name.
Yes. It was that. Those eyes.
Exactly as they had been at the start—unnervingly, spine-chillingly straight and clear—they were fixed on him still.
"I don't know what you're waiting for… but it's useless!"
Ignoring the creeping dread, Kwak Yang leapt into the air. Both hands clenched white around his sword, he brought it down like a man splitting firewood.
KWAAANG!
A ferocious gust of sword wind blew a cloud of dust across the platform.
The crowd thought: this time, for certain, it's over. She couldn't block that. She's been hit.
But—
DRDRDRDUK!
Kwak Yang's eyes bulged.
It had been blocked.
Jeong So-so had angled her wooden sword above her head and caught his full-power blow upon it. Then her sword traced a small circle, flicked his blade away, and thrust straight and merciless toward the chest he'd left wide open.
Urgh—!
PAAAA-AT!
Kwak Yang scrambled back nearly airborne, cold sweat pouring down him. His stomach had gone to ice. She'd been hunting for a counterattack all along. Had he let his guard slip even a hair further, it would truly have been the end.
"Hoo. Hoo."
Jeong So-so sucked in ragged breaths and clicked her tongue.
Sloppy.
She'd gotten close enough to taste it, but it was a failure. Had it worked, he'd be flat on the ground right now.
She bit her lip hard.
It's fine.
Her lungs burned, but fine. Her stamina had hit its wall long ago—and that was fine too. The flow of her internal energy had gone strange, refusing to obey her, but fine. It had been drained to the dregs since before the semifinals anyway.
You've done it this whole time, haven't you?
When she failed, she tried again. She tried, and tried again. And when it still didn't work—she kept going until it did.
With the utmost sincerity, exactly as her master had drilled into her until the words wore grooves in her ears. With that very same mindset that had carried her through a childhood of darkness and brought her to this platform at all.
"Now it's over!"
Kwak Yang's shout never reached her. Her little brother's cheering, the gossip of the directors and the crowd—all of it hung impossibly far away.
The sounds were receding. Her vision was narrowing. In the silence and darkness closing in around her, only two things remained in the world: Kwak Yang, and her own sword.
"Truth be told, the secret I teach is nothing more than a method for honing the mind to a point as sharp as an awl."
"With that point, you must find the certain something hidden in your opponent. Its name is…"
PAAA-AT!
Kwak Yang came at her harder than he had all match. And there was only one thing she needed to see.
The gap between one breath and the next. The instant where the harmony of internal and external arts slipped, ever so slightly, out of alignment. The structural flaw that every martial art carried—the moment its swordwork and footwork fell out of balance. The fatal weakness where a single strike could shatter the opponent's qi.
In the language of martial arts, this was called—
the Zhaomen. The Gate.
And in that very instant, Jeong So-so read it.
His breathing. His carelessness. The rhythm of his blade. His external art, his internal energy. And beneath the seam of his ribs, one hand-span down—the void that had opened in his qi.
Now!
For the first time in the match, Jeong So-so slammed her foot into the ground.
PAA-AT!
Her sword split the air. And that single strike, at long last—
Teong!
—landed.
Kwak Yang's breath left him in a sudden, choked gasp.
"Huh?"
He was startled, but the pain itself was slight. And yet a shiver shot up from his flank and spread through his whole body in an instant.
F-first, fall back—
Kwak Yang tried to lower his sword and retreat—and his body refused to move. As if pressed under a sleep-paralysis nightmare, all strength had drained from him; nothing obeyed.
CRASH!
Like porcelain shattering, like a string snapping clean through, the external art sheathing his muscles and bones collapsed all at once. Carried by the very momentum of his charge, Kwak Yang pitched forward headfirst and rolled across the ground.
"Urk—wha… what…"
When he recovered his senses a moment later and turned his head, there above him—
"Haa. Haa…"
—stood Jeong So-so, panting far past the point of necessity, looking down at him.
"…It's your mindset."
She opened her mouth, slowly. With the most ominous smile imaginable.
"I've been watching, and you are sorely lacking in mindset. So I'm going to—"
Her wooden sword dropped toward the man already incapable of fighting on.
"—carve into your body, with my own hands, what utmost sincerity truly means!"
BWAAK!
The sound of something bursting rang out across the platform.
Kwak Yang's mouth gaped wide.
"KAAAAAAAAH!"