Chapter 382. Youngwoo Focuses on Cultivation 4
On a whim, Youngwoo looked toward a point far beyond the range of ordinary sight.
Normally, it would have been too distant to make out clearly.
Yet the edge of the eaves, the wall beyond it, the mountainside behind the temple, and even the snow-covered ridge farther away seemed to draw nearer one layer at a time.
It was not that the distant scenery had enlarged before his eyes.
Rather, it felt as though his gaze itself had slid all the way out to meet it.
No.
Perhaps what appeared before him changed according to the observer's will.
He could see each individual snowflake.
The flakes drifting through the air swayed lightly, and wherever the wind passed, their paths curved for a moment.
Snow rested quietly along the branches.
The cold water beside the well held the faintest tremor.
None of those things seemed truly separate.
They all existed together within a single breath.
Youngwoo raised a hand.
He did not draw his sword.
Only his index finger pointed forward.
A finger sword.
At first there was only sensation in the fingertip.
Thought moved first.
Qi followed.
The moment his mind chose a point to aim at, the energy at his fingertip opened a path toward it.
Youngwoo turned and swept the finger sword through the air.
As his fingertip cut across empty space, the air before him seemed to swell for an instant.
Perhaps sound moved first.
Perhaps light trembled first.
The air pushed outward like a thin membrane—
then burst.
Pang.
Snow powder scattered first.
Then a tree branch shook.
A heartbeat later, circular ripples spread across the water by the well.
One thought arose.
The energy in his fingertip moved into the air.
The vibration in the air touched the things beyond.
All of it unfolded within a single breath.
Youngwoo turned his hand again.
This time to the left.
The instant his thought reached a mound of snow beneath the wall, the whiteness there trembled first.
Then the finger sword followed the path his mind had already laid out.
Pang. Pang.
The snowbank jumped and scattered.
Snow dropped in a rush from the ends of bare branches.
Farther away, an empty water jar gave a faint metallic hum.
That vibration was sound heard through the ears and, at the same time, sensation returning to his fingertip.
Cold.
Thin.
Clear.
Youngwoo held his breath.
This was not sword qi driven outward by raw force.
Nor did it cut like sword gang.
The mind moved first.
Qi opened the way.
Then the object itself seemed to tremble along that same path.
For a single instant, the movement inside his body and the movement of things outside it fell into the same rhythm.
Snow continued to fall.
But now it no longer seemed merely to be falling.
Some flakes touched the edge of his qi and drifted sideways.
Others seemed to pause for an instant along the path his fingertip had traced before descending again.
Invisible lines appeared between the sky and courtyard, and white points moved along them.
Youngwoo slowly lowered his hand.
Warmth still remained in his fingertip.
The courtyard had returned to silence, yet traces of the earlier vibration lingered everywhere.
A branch shook once more, belatedly.
The ripples in the well faded after drawing one final circle.
Snow at the edge of the eaves slipped down a beat late and broke softly against the ground.
When thought arises, qi arises.
When qi arises, the body moves.
When the body moves, the outside world moves with it.
Only now did Youngwoo see that simple sequence with his own eyes.
Or perhaps he heard it with his ears, touched it with his fingertips, and sensed it like a scent in the cold air.
He stood there for some time.
The tiny courtyard of the snow-covered meditation hall suddenly seemed immense.
There was only a well, a few trees, a low wall, and the eaves of the building.
Yet within that small space lay the movement of heaven and earth.
Like a child who had discovered an amusing new toy, Youngwoo pointed here and there through the air, making sharp pang, pang sounds—
then stopped.
This was a temple.
His cultivation mattered.
So did everyone else's.
That deserved respect.
He drew in a deep breath, returned inside, and sat down in meditation.
Something strange happened.
He thought he had only been sitting for a short while, yet before long the novice arrived and announced that it was time for the evening meal.
"This meal is difficult to bring here. You will have to come to the dining hall."
The words were polite.
Yet there was an odd firmness beneath them.
Youngwoo studied the boy's face.
What did it matter whether he went or not?
The novice could simply return and say, He says he isn't coming.
That should have been the end of it.
Someone had clearly asked him to do this.
The novice twisted awkwardly like a little stump, circling around the same insistence that Youngwoo really ought to come.
His eyes met Youngwoo's, then dropped to the floor.
His fingers fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves.
These were not words he personally wanted to say.
He was trying desperately to deliver a message entrusted to him by someone else.
Youngwoo remained still.
And because he remained still, he saw.
Before the sequence of words, he felt the direction of emotion.
The novice's embarrassment.
The impatience of whoever had made the request.
Even the small fear that he might be scolded if he failed.
Someone had asked him to do this.
And that someone wanted to see Youngwoo now.
He could see, somehow, the way human emotion flowed.
Before anyone explained anything in words, he felt as though he could tell from which direction a person's heart was pressing forward.
Youngwoo asked,
"Who is it? Who wants to see me?"
The novice's eyes widened.
Then he broke into a grin.
"Heh. You noticed? Lord Go Youngchang has been here waiting since lunchtime."
Youngwoo let out a long breath.
There were people one wished to stop seeing, yet they kept appearing in front of you.
Youngwoo was not the problem.
Go Youngchang was.
The man kept coming back because he wanted something.
Refuse him, and he left.
Just when it seemed he had gone for good, he returned again.
What could he possibly want this time?
Youngwoo sat for a long moment before rising, looking toward the door.
Outside, the evening light was fading.
Inside the little meditation hall, the floor still held a faint warmth from the ondol.