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Walking with Breath — Training on the Mountain Path
Before the sun had fully risen, the old man was already standing outside the hermitage.Night still lingered on the mountain path.Mist brushed against the ankles, and stone and earth, heavy with dew, were slick beneathfoot.Morning on Guwolsan was always wordless.
"Follow."
The old man led the way.He looked like a grandfather who might be blown away by a gust of wind, yet he carried no staff.As if the path itself already knew him, he did not hesitate for a single step.
Park Seong-jin followed behind.
At first, he walked by habit.Strength in his toes, knees locked, center tightly held.It was the walk he had learned on the battlefield—a way of moving meant to prevent wavering, meant not to fall.
After only a few steps, the old man stopped.
"Do not walk like that."
Park Seong-jin halted, steadying his breath.
"That is a step where fear of falling sends force ahead of you."
The old man pointed at the mountain path.It was narrow, winding, with stones jutting out unexpectedly.
"Mountain paths dislike endurance."
He moved one foot.It was very slow, yet there was no sway.
"Let the breath go first."
What did that mean?
Park Seong-jin lowered his head and began again.This time, before placing his foot, he inhaled.He felt the breath touch his chest and sink below his navel.
When the breath settled, his foot moved forward on its own.
He stepped on stone, but did not slip.He was not consciously holding his balance, yet his body inclined by itself.
One step, then another.
"Do not walk with your feet.Walk with your breath."
The old man's words followed like wind.
Park Seong-jin slowed.As he let go of speed, the slope of the mountain became clearer.On the ascent, the breath shortened first.On the descent, it lengthened naturally.
Only then did he understand:the breath already knew the rise and fall of the path.The body was merely following.
The trail grew rougher.Stones lay uneven, and roots hid beneath fallen leaves.Once, his foot slipped.
By instinct, he was about to tense—
when the old man's voice cut in.
"Do not grasp."
Park Seong-jin did not clench his teeth.He exhaled.
In that moment, his body lowered itself and regained balance.He did not fall.
His heart quickened, but fear did not arise.The breath simply passed through once, large and complete.
Without turning back, the old man said,"Falling is not failure.Losing the breath is."
The words settled quietly in his chest.
They walked on for a long while.Speech and explanation faded away.What remained were feet, breath, and the mountain's incline.
At some point, the boundary of walking blurred.He could not tell where his body ended and where the mountain path began.
When he inhaled, the way ahead opened.When he exhaled, his body naturally stopped.
The old man halted.
"This far."
Park Seong-jin stopped as well.His breath was not ragged.Sweat had formed, but no fatigue remained.His body felt lighter instead.
The old man turned and asked,"Do you know when a man holding a sword is in the greatest danger?"
Park Seong-jin thought for a moment."When his strength is spent."
The old man shook his head.
"No."
Then he said briefly,"When he forgets his breath."
As the words fell, wind passed as if the mountain itself had taken a deep breath.Pine needles shivered, and somewhere far off, a bird took flight.
The old man turned back down the path."That is enough for today.Walking with breath does not end with walking."
As Park Seong-jin descended the mountain, he understood:from now on, the path would lie not beneath his feet,but ahead of his breath.
From that day on, his steps did not become faster.Instead, they no longer wavered.
Days Without the Sword — A Ban on Weapons
That morning, without a word, the old man took Park Seong-jin's sword.The motion of his hand on the scabbard was so natural that Park Seong-jin did not even think to stop him.
The old man looked at the sword briefly, then set it upright beneath a pine tree behind the hermitage.
"From today, for several days, do not carry a blade."
Park Seong-jin bowed reflexively—and only then realized he had not answered.
"Do you wish to ask why?"the old man said, his back turned.
"No."
The reply was not obedience learned through training,but something closer to instinct.
The old man nodded.
"Days without the sword are the hardest."
On the first day, his hands felt empty.Upon waking, he unconsciously reached for his waist.It took a beat to realize the sword was not there.
That brief gap unsettled him.
Carrying firewood, drawing water, climbing the mountain path—some part of his body was always on alert,as if something might leap out at any moment.
It could have been a beast.Or a person.Or the time he had lived through.
The old man said nothing.He only gave him tasks.Move wood.Sort stones.Rebuild a collapsed wall.
His hands were busy, yet his mind kept returning to the sword.
If I had the blade, this would be faster.
Each time the thought arose, Park Seong-jin stoppedand corrected his breath.
On the second day, his hands no longer reacted first.Instead, his eyes saw first.The position of stones, the direction of roots, the place where wind brushed past before him.
When he carried a sword, the angle of cutting appeared first.Now, the flow to be avoided revealed itself before anything else.
The old man called him over.
"How is it?"
"It is slow."
"And so?"
Park Seong-jin thought for a moment."I am injured less."
The old man did not smile.He only nodded.
"The sword is fast.The faster it is, the sooner it breaks."
On the third night, Park Seong-jin dreamed.
There was no battlefield, no enemy.He held a sword, yet cut nothing.
What stood before him was not another man,but his own shadow.
The shadow held no blade.It simply stood there.
As Park Seong-jin stepped closer, the shadow spoke:
Now you see.
Startled, he woke.His heart was racing, but there was no fear.It felt closer to shame.
On the fourth day, the old man took him beneath the pine tree.The sword he had set down days before still stood there.Dew had darkened the scabbard.
The old man asked,"If you were to take that now, what would come to mind first?"
Park Seong-jin did not answer immediately.He looked at the sword.The blade and hilt were both familiar.
Yet his chest no longer tightened as before.
"I am afraid."
"Of what?"
"That I might try to solve everything with the sword again."
Only then did the old man smile softly.
"If that fear has arisen, you are already halfway past."
He did not take up the sword.He turned away.
"Not yet.We leave it again today."
Several more days passed.Park Seong-jin grew accustomed to being without the blade.His body grew lighter, his gaze lower.
Above all, he began to hear better.The old man's breathing.The direction of the wind.Even the subtle stirrings of his own mind.
One evening, the old man said,"To lay down the sword does not mean to stop fighting."
Park Seong-jin looked up.
"It means the master of the fight has changed."
That night, Park Seong-jin thought again of the sword.But this time, it was not with a desire to seize it.
Instead, a strange sense of ease arose—that even if he faced it again someday, there was no need to hurry.
He understood.The sword had not vanished; it had merely stepped aside.
And what he was learning nowwas not how to wield a blade,but how not to collapse even without one.
The old man's teachings were always like this.He did not strain to explain.He made one feel,and let understanding arrive on its own.