Chương 3: Fallen Star

Despite the constant press of sweating disciples and scurrying servants all around the sect, Chae-ha felt isolated. With nothing specific to do, the young girl chose to fill the three days she'd been given with menial, but important, tasks. She tried to digest as many of the complex rules and regulations as she could. Brief walks outside the barracks helped her learn where everything was.

She studied her new environment, ate the tasteless gruel brought to her by unnamed servants, and practiced tying the unfamiliar knots of her new uniform. When the fourth morning arrived, the young girl was already awake and prepared before the dawn. Her route to the Northern Plaza, a vast expanse of polished stone tiles near the Training Hall, was already planned out. Chae-ha vibrated with a nervous energy, unsure what to expect from her first day of training.

She went outside to clear her head and saw that the mountain was still shrouded in a biting mist. The sun was just barely peeking out above the lowest peaks as the Great Bell began its scheduled proclamation of the dawn. Resolutely, she squared her shoulders and marched towards the plaza. When she arrived, Chae-ha was surprised to find that she wasn't the first one there. A crowd of new disciples preceded her, all dressed in the same off-white robes that she was wearing, outlined in the same black trim.

She stood at the back of a group of about thirty boys, all of them larger and more muscular than her. The young men whispered among themselves, their breath blooming in the cold air. Chae-ha, however, remained silent – a small, mostly invisible ghost in the back of the crowd. The murmuring died immediately when a man with rippling shoulders, wild black hair, and a short, scruffy beard stepped in front of the group.

His eyes were dark and sunken, his nose flat and wide, and he was dressed in the oxblood robes of a High Elder. The golden embroidery emanating from the black trim looked like fire in the morning sun. On his back, he carried a sword that was almost as long as he was tall, with a handle the size of Chae-ha's leg. The burly man looked at the disorganized group of disciples with distaste.

"Arrange yourselves properly! Rows of six, with three tiles between each of you!" he bellowed, his voice thundering across the plaza. The new disciples scrambled to obey, standing rigidly at attention despite no order being given to do so. They all knew exactly who this must be, and they were terrified. Elder Jung withdrew the enormous Cham-ma-do from his back, his muscles straining only slightly as he lifted the colossal greatsword with a single hand.

"The technique I'm about to show you is called Dan-hae-gyeok – the Sea-Splitting Slash. It is one of the core techniques of our sect." The Training Elder turned away from the new disciples and released a steady stream of breath. Glyphs along the side of the blade slowly lit up as it became infused with Ki, and a strange distortion began to build up in front of the edge. When the last glyph lit up the man surged forwards, his heel shattering the stone tile beneath him as he connected his foot to the earth.

His legs and hips began to rotate, his upper body followed, and the huge horse-splitting saber trailed behind. As the momentum of his rotation finally transferred to the sword, the world around Chae-ha abruptly collapsed into black and white. For a brief moment there was no sound; no rush of the wind, no whistle of the sword tip through the air. Only a thin black line marking the difference between where the tip of the sword had once been, and where it was now.

Sound and color came rushing back with an ear-splitting thunderclap as the air around the line collapsed inwards, filling the gap in reality left behind by the sundering slash. Some of the students were so surprised by the noise that they fell down.

"This is the essence of Cham-jeom-sul, the Art of the Sundering Edge," Elder Jung said, as the remaining disciples gaped and stared in shock.

"Our sect's techniques use Ju-geom-shik, the Sword-Infusing Breath, to concentrate sundering Ki along the edge of the sword and into the tip. The more condensed the ki becomes, the more absolute the severance it creates." The Training Elder paused for dramatic effect.

"The lore of our sect says that the reason this world has a horizon is because our founder once swung his sword – and in so doing, permanently separated the seas from the heavens." The story sounded ridiculous – but after what they had just seen, many of the disciples were willing to believe it.

"Must you always break the tiles?" Elder Gwak muttered, turning away from the scene and sighing. He stood in a courtyard far away, but his sharp eyes, shimmering with a faint, hazy sheen, captured everything. If anyone were to ask, he would simply respond that he was out for a walk. He certainly wasn't spending any of his valuable time watching over a little girl with a silver hairpin.

"But those are tales of the past. Today, we are here to talk about your futures," Elder Jung barked, his voice snapping the disciples out of their daze.

"Power like this is not handed to you. It is the result of years of hard work and dedication. Many of you will not be able to master the physical requirements, and many of those that remain will never progress beyond basic Ki manipulation. To overcome that barrier and one day emerge as an elite, Senior Disciple, you must forge your bodies into the perfect vessels for this art – a process that starts right here, in this crucible we call the Training Hall."

He turned towards the grand building behind him and gestured sharply.

"Mu-cheon! Step forwards." A boy emerged from the shadows under the eaves. He couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen, but he moved with the absolute confidence of someone who had been training for this his entire life. Unlike the recruits in their rough hemp, this young man wore expensive oxblood silks, adorned with the silver embroidery that marked an Inner Disciple. He was big for his age, standing an entire head above even the tallest of the gathered students.

Whispers broke out amongst the group of boys like a sudden fever.

"That's him... the Young Master! The future Sect Leader!" Mu-cheon didn't acknowledge the murmuring or the stares. His gaze was completely detached as he raised his chin and took his place beside the Training Elder.

"The path to mastering Cham-jeom-sul does not start with swinging a sword," Elder Jung boomed.

"It starts with building up your Jeong-am-gi – the Rock-Anchoring Foundation. Without a solid foundation, your bodies will not be able to withstand the pressure of our internal art. If you don't want your meridians to rupture, focus first on building a worthy base." Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. At the elder's signal, Mu-cheon dropped into a stance. It was low and wide, his thighs perfectly parallel to the stone tiles.

The only sound he made was a single delicate clink as the motion caused some copper coins hidden in his belt to knock together. Once settled, he looked as if he had somehow connected himself directly to the ground; his body was rock solid, and his back was as straight as a granite pillar.

"Copy him! Sink your weight into the stone!" Chae-ha dropped into her stance and tried to imitate the young prodigy. Almost immediately, the burning in her legs began. She couldn't even hold the stance for half a ke; her body began to shake, and her misaligned center of gravity tugged at her balance. It didn't take long before her thighs gave out, sending her sprawling onto the cold tiles.

"Again!" the elder roared, not even looking her way. She scrambled up to try again, her face flushed with embarrassment. But this time, her muscles were already screaming, and she collapsed even faster. She tried again, and again. Each failure felt like a public execution. All around her, the boys were shaking, their breaths coming in ragged gasps – but most had at least managed to remain upright throughout. Eventually, the Training Elder called for the torment to end.

Bathed in sweat, but drowning in shame, Chae-ha sat on the tiles looking stunned. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, and bright lights danced in front of her dizzy eyes. She felt a sudden upwelling from within, not understanding what it was until vomit burst from her mouth, staining the tiles in front of her with partially digested gruel. The handful of disciples who hadn't yet left the plaza looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. The only one who didn't was Mu-cheon.

The Inner Disciple's expression remained totally blank as his gaze lingered on the frail girl stubbornly wiping her mouth. When he saw she was refusing to run away in tears, he gave her a small nod of approval. Mortified, but determined, Chae-ha struggled to her feet. She still had chores to do – and now, tiles to clean. That night, Chae-ha lay awake on her straw mattress, staring at the ceiling. The shame of the vomit still burned in her chest, but beneath it, a colder worry had taken root.

She sat up in the darkness and reached for her uniform. Her fingers traced the rough hemp belt. If she was going to survive this, she needed to be stronger. To be more like… him. But how? Her mind replayed the image of Mu-cheon locked into his stance, like he was an extension of the mountain itself. His balance had been perfect. She recalled the single sound he'd made – the delicate clink of copper coins, which stopped immediately as soon as he'd settled.

The coins had moved when he did; maybe there was a way to make use of that. Chae-ha got up and walked over to the small desk in the corner, where she picked up a small stone she'd been using as a paperweight. She tore a strip of fabric from the hem of her spare undergarments and wrapped it tightly around the rock, securing it with a knot. If she tucked the other end into her belt loop, it would hang freely in front of her legs.

Then, whenever her center of gravity began to shift, the stone would swing and tell her what to correct. The young girl curled her fingers around the makeshift plumb line, squeezing it tight. It seemed like such a small thing, but she needed every advantage she could get. Maybe staying perfectly balanced would prove to be the key to mastering the stance. On the second morning, Chae-ha returned to the plaza with renewed determination.

As she dropped into the Jeong-am-gi, the young girl focused entirely on maintaining the position of the stone dangling from her uniform. When it leaned back, she adjusted her hips. When it started to sway, she corrected her spine. For a while, the strategy almost seemed to work. She found it easier to maintain the proper alignment, one that allowed bone to rest on bone instead of needing her muscles to prop her up.

Maybe it was because the stone was helping, and maybe it was just because she felt inspired, but the young girl managed to hold the stance a little bit longer than she had the previous day. But biology is cruel. As her muscles fatigued, the tremors started. Her shaking caused the makeshift pendulum to swing about erratically. Surprised by the unexpected motion, she over-corrected – and collapsed unceremoniously onto the tiles again.

Somewhere past the rows of mocking laughter, she could almost hear Mu-cheon shaking his head. That evening, Chae-ha borrowed some scrap paper from the study hall before returning to her room. As soon as she got to her desk, the young girl slammed the paper down and started writing. Her brush moved frantically in the candlelight, jotting down every idea she could think of to gain an edge: energy, grip, alignment, leverage.

She stared at the catalog of ideas as if it were a holy text, before slowly putting down her brush. Balance hadn't worked, but she still had more solutions to try. Maybe efficiency would be the key. The next day, as she sank into her stance, Chae-ha glanced at the disciple beside her. His jaw was clenched, his muscles were tensed, and his breathing was labored. All of that seemed like wasted energy. And she didn't have that luxury.

Instead of tensing her muscles, the young girl forced her upper body to go completely limp. She slackened her jaw and dropped her shoulders, loosening muscles one by one until she felt totally relaxed from the waist up. She diverted every scrap of energy she had into her screaming legs. Once again, the strategy almost seemed to work – at least, at first. By eliminating other sources of tension, she bought herself a few more moments of strength.

But without her core muscles engaged, her center of gravity began to drift. She found she couldn't both stay limp and stay upright, and she was ultimately forced to abandon the idea, before eventually hitting the ground again. When her legs had recovered and were finally willing to obey her again, she forced herself to stand, tears of pure frustration stinging her eyes. She rejected the impulse to quit. Tomorrow, she would try again – a new strategy for each day, if that was what it took.

Eventually, something had to work. But nothing did. Every day, her efforts continued to be met with failure. By the end of the week, she only had one idea remaining: creating a counter-weight. Chae-ha lowered her stance. When her legs began to hurt, she aggressively tilted her pelvis and leaned her torso forward, shifting her center of mass over her toes rather than her heels. The burn in her thighs immediately faded, replaced by a deep, skeletal ache in her lower back. She held the position.

She pushed harder than she ever had before, absolutely determined to last at least one full ke. As she neared the limits of human endurance, the young girl heard Elder Jung's voice ring out across the plaza.

"Time is up! You may break your stances." Chae-ha willed her body to move, but her overworked back seized into a violent spasm instead. She crumpled onto the ground, hitting the stone tiles with a heavy thud. While the other disciples all trudged back to the barracks, she alone stayed behind – looking for all the world like a small heap of off-white linen someone had dumped onto the tiles.

After half a ke of lying there and breathing heavily, a shadow fell over her, causing the young girl to raise her eyes and look up. She saw Mu-cheon's face centered on the sky, staring down at her like a traveler might look at a bird with a broken wing.

"You're wasting your time," he scolded her.

"It's good that you're putting in the effort, but you'll never get anywhere by relying on tricks." Chae-ha managed to sit partially up, her stomach still sick with exhaustion. Her fingers scraped against the stone until they found the hem of his crimson uniform. She clutched at it, desperation in her eyes. She had tried balance. She had tried efficiency. She had tried leverage. Nothing had worked.

"Please…help me," she begged.

"Teach me how…to be like you."

"Why would I do that? What's in it for me?" the young man asked, not out of arrogance, but in honest confusion.

"I have my own training to worry about." Chae-ha hesitated before reaching behind her head, her hands trembling as she pulled out the phoenix hairpin above her braid. She held her palms up in supplication, eyes downcast. The silver accessory glimmered in her cupped hands like a fallen star. Mu-cheon's jaw dropped open in shock. What use would he possibly have for such a trinket? And what kind of person would even offer it? He closed his eyes as the answer came to him. Someone with absolutely nothing else to give.

He placed his fingers on top of hers, closing the younger girl's smaller digits back around her offering.

"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe…not everything needs to be a transaction." The Inner Disciple straightened his back and raised his voice in resolve.

"I'll meet you here at midnight, junior sister." In a courtyard far away, Elder Gwak raised a single eyebrow, before turning and heading back into the Archives.