The first rain fell on the morning of the fourth day.
Not a violent rain. A constant drizzle, slipping through the leaves like a breath of warm mist.
Ji-Hoon used it to erase his tracks.
He wiped each step in the mud, replaced upturned stones, scattered the remnants of fire, and let the natural water wash away everything he had been.
Then, he climbed back up the mountain.
---
He found shelter.
A low cave, invisible from the trails.
Inside, it was nothing more than a dark, humid belly, from which the wind seemed to exhale like a slow breath.
But the place was dry, faced east, with a natural hollow in the ceiling that let the morning light in.
— Perfect.
He named the place The Void.
---
Routine:
Dawn: Silent breathing, visualization of meridians.
Morning: Reading in the Library of the Soul. Comparative study of treatises.
Noon: Stealth foraging, wildlife observation, toxin testing on insects.
Afternoon: Decoction preparation, mental recipe drafting.
Evening: Mental simulations of medical cases, acupuncture gestures performed in the air.
Night: Immersion in memory, reversed meditation (voluntary unlearning).
---
First test:
A sen-duan leaf decoction, said to accelerate blood regeneration.
Tested on a mouse with an injured leg.
Result: accelerated coagulation—but secondary respiratory arrest. Volatile toxin insufficiently neutralized.
Ji-Hoon recorded the failure. Engraved it in his mind.
He did not curse the mistake. He welcomed it.
Every failure was another book in his mental library.
---
Second test:
Infusion of black willow + stone salt + tian-fa root.
Target effect: mild nerve desensitization.
He applied it on himself, on a finger.
Numbness in 43 seconds. Pain sensitivity reduced by 87% according to his calculated stimuli.
— Useful for treatment without anesthesia.
He made a deliberate cut and stitched the wound cold.
Not a flinch.
Just an analytical stare.
---
Martial simulation:
Each night, in his mind, he imagined opponents.
Southern boxers. Spearmen from Mount Baekdu.
Barehanded Shaolin fighters.
He projected himself into combat—not with strength, not with speed—but with surgical precision.
Where to strike to slow them down?
Which acupuncture point to numb?
What angle of attack to mimic paralysis—without causing it?
Each mental victory was noted.
Each defeat, dissected.
---
Visualization:
He created a mental mannequin.
A man's body, floating in darkness.
Translucent.
He could project points on it, trace meridians, draw muscle layers, model injuries, infections, flows of Ki.
And gradually…
He understood.
Not how to destroy.
But how to open a body. Decode it.
Manipulate it.
---
On the tenth day, a change.
He felt a presence near the cave entrance.
An animal?
No.
A child. Out of breath. Injured.
A boy, no older than eight, dragging his leg, his arm swollen with infection.
Ji-Hoon, invisible in the shadows, waited.
The boy murmured:
"The… wolf… it came back… I slipped…"
He fainted.
Ji-Hoon did not hesitate.
He stepped out of the Void, picked him up, brought him into the cave, and began treatment.
---
It was not kindness.
It was a practical exam.
He tested the black bark balm, the Jianjing point needle, the fever-clearing decoction.
And when the child reopened his eyes two days later, healed but trembling, he saw a neutral face above him.
Not a doctor.
A silent scholar.
The boy tried to speak. But Ji-Hoon placed a finger on his lips.
"You never saw me. You don't know me.
If you betray me… I'll steal your legs in your sleep."
A cold smile.
The boy nodded.
And Ji-Hoon knew he had just begun to exist in the Murim.
---
To be continued...