375 different pulse echoed from below his chest
When the battle ended, the groans of the Jiangnan martial artists dissolved into the mist.
Park Seong-jin sheathed his sword.
Then it happened.
Thump.
His heart beat once.
A moment later, a different pulse echoed from below his chest—
as if another heart had begun to beat, separate from the first.
The first pulse drove blood.
The second drew qi upward.
As the two synchronized, waves surged beneath his abdomen.
"…."
His breath cut off for an instant.
The sensation of his dantian heating was unmistakable.
Qi burst from the lower dantian and clung to his waist.
It was neither hot nor painful.
Yet the feeling was vivid—
like a living serpent climbing his spine.
The term Red Serpent Piercing the Gates flashed through his mind.
When circulating qi through controlled breathing, the inner power manifests as a red serpent, rising toward the head.
An expression used when dense internal energy takes on a distinct, active form.
As the energy rose, every extremity opened.
The tendons in his right arm became sharply defined.
His left shoulder tingled—strained, yet light.
A vessel at the nape of his neck burst open.
Sound sharpened all at once.
The world cleared.
Distant groans.
The clatter of armor being removed.
Blood soaking into soil.
The low murmur of a river far away.
All of it reached him at the same time.
Though his eyes remained open, another layer of sight unfolded.
Not wider vision—
but the sensation of having gained a second eye.
Flows of qi, previously unseen, became distinct.
Song Yi-sul's qi expanded in a rounded field.
Lieutenant Jong-hee's qi, farther back, had already settled—
the residue of battle fading.
The qi of the Jiangnan martial artists remained like torn traces in the air.
Those still alive trembled like needles on water.
This layer felt more vivid than the physical world itself.
Park Seong-jin muttered without thinking,
"The world looks doubled."
The sensation beneath his feet changed.
Rather than standing on the ground, it felt as if the earth were drawing him in.
That connection rose through his waist and into his chest.
His breathing deepened.
Exhale.
With that single breath, nearly half of the qi spent in battle returned.
Not forced—
it replenished itself.
"This isn't a breathing method," he realized.
"It's a change in constitution."
But the flow continued.
The vessel at the back of his neck tightened sharply.
"Kh—."
It wasn't pain, but pressure.
Qi stretched taut between his shoulders and chest, friction building—
a clear warning.
Song Yi-sul sensed it immediately and turned.
"Seong-jin. Lower your breath. Return it to the dantian."
Park Seong-jin obeyed at once.
The surging qi gradually settled.
As it did, he felt a subtle expansion—
the internal circuits centered on his waist widened by a single layer.
It felt as though a path had broadened.
As if the world itself had brightened.
When the qi finally stabilized, Park Seong-jin exhaled slowly and stared into the air.
There was no joy.
No exhilaration.
Only certainty.
His inner power had grown.
His qi extended into the surrounding space.
Quietly, he said,
"I advanced a step on the battlefield."
To preserve the state, he immediately crossed his legs and sat.
Dawn mist thinned.
His breath spread calmly over a battlefield still soaked in blood.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Crunch. Crunch.
"Seong-jin."
It was Song Yi-sul.
He knelt and studied Seong-jin closely—
his pupils, pulse, tremor at the fingertips, the depth of his breathing.
After a moment, he said,
"A large wave passed."
Still gathering himself, Park Seong-jin replied,
"Yes… something rose, then caught in my chest."
Song Yi-sul's expression hardened.
He moved behind Seong-jin and pressed two points along his shoulders.
"The lower dantian is fully heated."
"The middle dantian has begun to open."
He paused.
"You came very close to the boundary today."
Park Seong-jin's eyes widened slightly.
Song Yi-sul tapped his back once.
"The sensation of rising inner power feels good."
"Yes."
"It feels like your existence is expanding."
Song Yi-sul's voice dropped.
"That sensation is the test."
"When inner power rises, people feel joy first."
"That joy expands momentum. If momentum twists, vessels shake and the dantian destabilizes."
He traced down Seong-jin's spine and pressed a knotted point.
Tap.
Blocked qi released. Warmth spread through the body.
"Your inner power has clearly grown," Song Yi-sul said.
"Growth isn't linear. Sometimes it leaps like this."
"But what appeared first today wasn't achievement."
"It was the warning."
He met Seong-jin's gaze.
"I learned that boundary late."
Park Seong-jin lowered his head.
Song Yi-sul sat before him and opened his palm.
"The heart-method I learned through the body can be reduced to one line."
He said it plainly.
"First settle the mind. Then the qi follows."
"Today, your qi moved ahead of your mind."
He flicked Seong-jin's forehead lightly.
"As qi expands, emotions amplify with it."
"Joy. Anger. Grief. All become sharper."
"You must regulate them."
After a pause, he added,
"For a while, reduce movement."
Park Seong-jin asked quietly,
"Is that why the world felt doubled? Why sound sharpened?"
Song Yi-sul nodded.
"That phenomenon is a gate everyone passes at the entrance to advancement."
He looked toward the thinning mist beyond the battlefield.
"Seong-jin. On the battlefield, you can grow several times stronger."
…"That strength is expansion of qi."
"But consolidation happens after the fight."
"Slowing down. Settling the breath. Calming the tremor."
"That is when the step becomes yours."
"It's called returning to the origin."
He pressed his palm against his own chest.
"Even if the middle dantian opens, without the mind to support it, inner power drives people too fast."
"That's why so many lose their way."
His hand rested on Seong-jin's shoulder.
"Seong-jin."
His voice was firm, like reciting scripture.
"What you gained today was not momentum."
"Not inner power."
"It was the path."
Park Seong-jin held his breath.
"A path?"
"A path where you grow in battle,"
"realize when you fall,"
"and grow once more at the edge of death."
Then, very quietly,
"That path changes people. Walk it to the end."
Park Seong-jin bowed his head.
Song Yi-sul stood.
"Stop training tonight."
"…Yes?"
"After qi rises, only breathing is correct."
"Observe."
He said it cleanly.
"Lower the breath. Cool the heat. Feel the smell of earth."
"That choice preserves you."
Park Seong-jin bowed again.
"…Yes, hyung."
Song Yi-sul draped his outer garment over Seong-jin's shoulders and turned away.
In the dim light, his retreating figure looked like that of a master leaving instruction behind.