One year passed like flowing water.
Seo-Cheon stood at the base of the Nak-An path, completing his final run as a basic trainee.
His small legs carried him up the familiar route, past the points where other disciples still struggled, past the steep inclines that had once seemed impossible.
He reached the Nak-An temple gates in record time—again—his breathing steady and controlled.
Behind him, the other fourth-generation disciples were scattered along the path at various distances, all of them far behind.
Over the past year, this had become normal.
Joo Seo-Cheon, the once-unremarkable child, now stood out as the most physically capable among his peers.
But that was only the surface.
The Genius Development Protocol had been working quietly in the background of his daily life.
Tranquil Heart had been the hardest to develop.
Seo-Cheon had thought his seventy-seven years of experience would make this easy, but the Nano Machine's standards were different.
True tranquility wasn't just staying calm in combat.
It was maintaining absolute clarity even when everything screamed at you to panic.
He'd practiced during the hellish morning runs, forcing himself to remain mentally composed even as his body wanted to react to the physical strain.
He'd meditated during rest periods, learning to quiet the constant mental chatter of an old man's mind trapped in a child's body.
Progress was slow, but it was there.
He could maintain his composure for longer now, his thoughts staying clear even during unexpected situations.
The panic that used to spike when Master Yu suddenly appeared during his secret training had faded to mere alertness.
Acute Senses had developed more naturally.
The Nano Machine provided constant feedback, training him to notice details he would have normally missed.
The shift in another disciple's breathing that indicated exhaustion.
The slight change in wind direction that meant rain was coming.
The almost imperceptible sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
His awareness had expanded, sharpened, refined.
Where before he might notice three or four details in a sparring match, now he could track a dozen—the tension in an opponent's shoulders, the distribution of their weight, the micro-expressions that telegraphed their next move.
It wasn't anywhere close to the legendary ability to read an entire technique from a single glance, but it was far beyond what a normal nine-year-old should possess.
Singular Focus frustrated him.
He had the ability to concentrate—decades of cultivation practice had taught him that.
But true singular focus, as the protocol defined it, meant more than just paying attention.
It meant isolating a single element of a technique and understanding it so completely that you could rebuild the entire technique from that one piece.
He wasn't there yet.
But he'd started to glimpse it—moments during fist training where he'd focus solely on the rotation of his hip during a punch, and suddenly understand how that rotation connected to power generation, balance, and recovery all at once.
Brief flashes of insight that faded as quickly as they came.
Physical Liberation had progressed the most.
His restructured body responded to his will with increasing fluidity.
Movements that used to require conscious thought now flowed naturally.
His muscle memory from his previous life was reintegrating with his optimized physiology, creating something new.
Something better.
During training, he found himself moving without planning, his body executing techniques while his mind observed almost as a spectator.
It wasn't complete—he still had to think about complex combinations, still had to consciously adjust his stance during difficult forms.
But the foundation was forming, that seamless unity of thought and action that defined true masters.
"Seo-Cheon!"
Master Yu's voice called out as Seo-Cheon descended from the temple.
His master stood at the base of the path, a warm smile on his weathered face.
The other disciples were still making their way down, exhausted and sweating.
Seo-Cheon approached and bowed.
"Master."
"Congratulations," Master Yu said, placing a hand on Seo-Cheon's head and patting gently. "You've completed your basic training. One full year of dedicated effort, and you've exceeded every expectation."
The head pat felt awkward.
Seo-Cheon was, mentally, a seventy-seven-year-old man.
Being treated like a child had been uncomfortable at first—degrading, even.
But over the past year, he'd grown used to it.
Almost fond of it, in a strange way.
This was a kindness his master had never shown him in his previous life, when Seo-Cheon had been too weak and sickly to merit such attention.
"Thank you, Master," he said quietly.
Master Yu's expression grew more serious.
"From today onward, you'll be training on your own. The basic training period is over. You're free to develop at your own pace, choose your own focus."
He squeezed Seo-Cheon's shoulder.
"I know you can do it. You've shown more dedication this year than disciples twice your age. Whatever path you choose, walk it with confidence."
Seo-Cheon bowed again, hiding his expression.
Inside, he was cheering.
Finally! Finally, I can train without Master constantly watching over me!
He loved his master—truly, deeply, in a way he'd never managed in his previous life.
But the constant supervision had been stifling.
Now he could implement his real plans.
Now he could use the knowledge from his previous life without having to carefully hide every insight.
"I won't disappoint you, Master," he said.
And he meant it.
That evening, Seo-Cheon sat cross-legged beneath a plum blossom tree in a secluded corner of the training grounds.
Plum blossoms surrounded Mount Hua—Hua Shan literally meant "Flower Mountain," and these trees were everywhere.
Most disciples ignored them, seeing them as mere decoration.
Seo-Cheon knew better.
In his previous life, sixty-six years from now, a genius within Mount Hua would discover something remarkable.
The Mae Hwa Ki Gong—Plum Blossom Qi Art—the most basic of basic techniques taught to every Mount Hua disciple, had a secret.
A hidden depth that transformed it from a simple foundational practice into something far more profound.
Mae Hwa Youth Gong.
The Plum Blossom Youth Art.
By reciting special verses while practicing near the plum blossom trees, a practitioner could borrow their energy.
Not steal it—borrow it.
When the plum blossoms exhaled, the practitioner inhaled.
Ki didn't only exist in people.
It existed in animals, in plants, in all living things.
The plum blossoms of Mount Hua, nourished by the mountain's rich spiritual energy for centuries, contained vast reserves of gentle, pure ki.
With this discovery, the problematic limitations of the Mae Hwa Ki Gong—its slow speed and limited capacity—were solved.
In his previous timeline, this breakthrough had earned the discoverer immense recognition.
Seo-Cheon had no intention of stealing that achievement.
But he also had no intention of waiting sixty-six years to use it himself.
He closed his eyes and began the special verses, words he'd memorized from observing that future genius's practice.
"Plum blossoms endure the winter's cold..."
[ALERT: EXTERNAL ENERGY SOURCE DETECTED.]
[ANALYSIS: PLANT-BASED KI SIGNATURE. COMPATIBLE WITH HOST CULTIVATION.]
[RECOMMENDATION: ESTABLISHING CIRCULATION PATTERN.]
The plum blossom tree behind him seemed to breathe.
Seo-Cheon felt it—a gentle exhalation of energy, pure and cool.
He inhaled, drawing that energy into his meridians.
"Standing firm when all else falls..."
The ki flowed through his Extraordinary Eight Meridians, smooth and natural.
Not forceful, not overwhelming.
Just steady, constant, like the plum blossoms themselves.
"Their fragrance spreads even in frost..."
[DETECTING INEFFICIENCIES IN CIRCULATION PATTERN.]
[ANALYZING... ANALYSIS COMPLETE.]
[MULTIPLE OPTIMIZATION OPPORTUNITIES IDENTIFIED.]
[QUERY: PERMISSION TO ADJUST TECHNIQUE FOR MAXIMUM EFFICIENCY?]
Seo-Cheon's eyes opened slightly.
"You can improve it?"
[AFFIRMATIVE. CURRENT TECHNIQUE UTILIZES APPROXIMATELY 34% OF AVAILABLE PLANT KI.]
[WITH OPTIMIZATION: ESTIMATED UTILIZATION 89-92%.]
[ADDITIONAL BENEFIT: REDUCED STRAIN ON PLANT LIFE. CURRENT METHOD STRESSES TREES UNNECESSARILY.]
Seo-Cheon smiled.
Of course the Nano Machine would find inefficiencies.
That future genius had created something remarkable, but he'd been working alone, without advanced analysis.
"Do it. But keep the changes subtle—I don't want the technique to feel completely different from the original."
[ACKNOWLEDGED. IMPLEMENTING OPTIMIZATIONS.]
[ADJUST BREATHING RHYTHM: REDUCE INTERVAL BY 0.3 SECONDS.]
[MODIFY VERSE EMPHASIS: FOCUS RESONANCE ON SPECIFIC SYLLABLES.]
[REFINE MERIDIAN PATHWAY: ROUTE THROUGH PENETRATING VESSEL BEFORE CONCEPTION VESSEL.]
Seo-Cheon followed the instructions, making minute adjustments to his practice.
The difference was immediate.
The flow of energy more than doubled, pouring into his body like a gentle stream becoming a river.
But there was no discomfort, no strain.
Just pure, clean cultivation progress.
Hours passed.
By the time the moon reached its peak, Seo-Cheon had absorbed more ki than a month of normal cultivation would have provided.
[MAE HWA KI GONG PROGRESS: LEVEL 4 → LEVEL 5.]
[FOUNDATION SOLIDIFIED. READY FOR ADVANCED TECHNIQUES.]
Seo-Cheon stood, bowing respectfully to the plum blossom tree.
"Thank you for your generosity," he murmured.
One year of basic training completed.
Level 5 of the Mae Hwa Ki Gong achieved.
Tomorrow, he would seek out Instructor Chae Ck-Woong and begin learning the actual martial techniques of Mount Hua.
Tomorrow, his real training would begin.
The third-generation training hall was larger than the fourth-generation facilities, filled with practice dummies, weapon racks, and training equipment.
Instructor Chae Ck-Woong stood at the center, a stern-faced man in his forties with the bearing of a seasoned warrior.
Around him, about twenty disciples who had completed basic training waited nervously.
Seo-Cheon stood among them, the youngest by at least a year.
"Listen well!" Instructor Chae's voice boomed across the hall. "You've completed basic training. Your bodies are ready. Now you will learn the martial arts of Mount Hua!"
He gestured to the weapon racks.
"I know most of you are eager to learn swordsmanship. The Plum Blossom Sword Art is our sect's pride, after all."
Several disciples leaned forward eagerly.
"However," Instructor Chae continued, his tone hardening, "before any of you touch a sword, you will master the Plum Blossom Fist Art."
Disappointed murmurs rippled through the group.
"The fist techniques are the foundation of Mount Hua's essence!" Instructor Chae declared. "The principles of distance, timing, and body mechanics—all of these are learned through empty-hand combat. Only when you understand how to fight without a weapon can you truly understand how to fight with one."
He looked across the assembled disciples.
"So no complaints. You will practice the Plum Blossom Fist Art until your knuckles bleed and your arms feel like lead. You will punch until you cannot lift your hands. And you will thank me for it later."
Most of the disciples looked disappointed, a few even pouting.
Instructor Chae's gaze swept across them, then stopped on Seo-Cheon.
The boy's expression was calm, attentive, showing no sign of disappointment.
"You there. The small one. Joo Seo-Cheon, yes?"
"Yes, Instructor."
"You're not pouting like the others. Why?"
Seo-Cheon bowed slightly.
"Because the Instructor's words make sense. How can I wield a sword properly if I don't understand my own body's movements first?"
Instructor Chae's stern expression softened slightly.
"Good answer. I like you already, kid."
He turned back to the group.
"The rest of you, learn from Seo-Cheon's attitude! Now, everyone into horse stance! We begin!"
Training was brutal.
Instructor Chae pushed them relentlessly, drilling the basic forms of the Plum Blossom Fist Art over and over.
Straight punches.
Hook punches.
Uppercuts.
Blocks and counters.
Footwork and body positioning.
For hours they trained, until the older disciples were gasping and trembling.
Seo-Cheon maintained his form throughout, his optimized body handling the strain with ease.
But he was careful not to stand out too much.
He deliberately slowed his movements occasionally, added small imperfections that made him look like a talented but still learning child rather than a prodigy.
No need to draw unnecessary attention.
Three days later, Seo-Cheon was practicing alone beneath his favorite plum blossom tree.
He'd just finished an evening cultivation session using the Mae Hwa Youth Gong, drawing energy from the trees around him.
His ki circulation was smoother than ever, his foundation growing stronger by the day.
"Look, it's the plum blossom lover!"
The mocking voice made Seo-Cheon open his eyes.
Five children approached—all of them fourth-generation disciples like himself, though older and larger.
He recognized the leader: Gang Mu, a twelve-year-old who fancied himself a bully.
"Seriously, Seo-Cheon, you're always sitting under these stupid trees," Gang Mu sneered. "What are you, a flower? Maybe we should call you 'Little Blossom.'"
The other boys laughed.
Seo-Cheon stood slowly, brushing plum petals from his robes.
In his previous life, he would have endured this.
Kept his head down, avoided confrontation, let the bullies have their fun.
But he was tired of that version of himself.
"Usually," Seo-Cheon said calmly, "I'd just tell you brats to buzz off."
Gang Mu's eyes narrowed. "What did you call—"
"But you'd probably just keep doing it," Seo-Cheon continued, rolling his shoulders. "Coming back day after day, making the same stupid jokes, thinking you're clever."
He settled into the opening stance of the Plum Blossom Fist Art.
"So I'll tearfully take on the burden of teaching you the fist of love."
Gang Mu laughed. "You? You're going to fight all five of us?"
"Fight?" Seo-Cheon smiled. "No. I'm going to educate you."
It was over in less than a minute.
Gang Mu lunged first, throwing a wild haymaker.
Seo-Cheon sidestepped effortlessly, his heightened senses reading the telegraphed attack like an open book.
He countered with a precise palm strike to Gang Mu's solar plexus—not full force, just enough to knock the wind out of him.
The bigger boy collapsed, wheezing.
The second boy hesitated, then charged.
Seo-Cheon's focus narrowed, isolating the attack pattern and identifying three openings in the first half-second.
He chose the middle opening, delivering a quick jab to the boy's nose.
Not hard enough to break it, but enough to make his eyes water.
The third and fourth boys attacked together, trying to overwhelm him with numbers.
Seo-Cheon's body moved without conscious thought, flowing between their clumsy strikes like water around stones.
A sweep took one boy's legs.
An elbow to the ribs doubled over the other.
The fifth boy, seeing his friends on the ground, turned to run.
Seo-Cheon caught him by the collar.
"Where are you going? Class isn't over yet."
One precise strike to the back of the knee, and the boy joined his friends on the ground.
Seo-Cheon stood over them, not even breathing hard.
"You knew I was strong," he said, genuinely puzzled. "I've been first in every physical exercise for a year. I've beaten disciples twice my age in sparring. So why even bother?"
Gang Mu looked up at him, fear replacing the earlier bravado.
"We... we thought... because you're smaller..."
"Size isn't everything," Seo-Cheon said, offering his hand to help Gang Mu up. "Remember that next time you think about bullying someone."
He helped each of them to their feet, dusted them off, and sent them limping away.
As they left, Seo-Cheon heard one whisper to another: "How is he so strong? He's only nine!"
Seo-Cheon smiled and returned to his spot beneath the plum blossom tree.
[COMBAT ANALYSIS: EFFICIENT USE OF ALL FOUR PILLARS.]
[TRANQUIL HEART: MAINTAINED COMPOSURE DESPITE 5-TO-1 ODDS.]
[ACUTE SENSES: PREDICTED ALL ATTACKS WITH HIGH ACCURACY.]
[SINGULAR FOCUS: ISOLATED OPTIMAL COUNTER FOR EACH OPPONENT.]
[PHYSICAL LIBERATION: BODY RESPONDED TO WILL WITHOUT HESITATION.]
[ASSESSMENT: SIGNIFICANT PROGRESS. CONTINUE CURRENT TRAINING REGIMEN.]
"I plan to," Seo-Cheon murmured, settling back into his cultivation stance.
One year down.
Many more to go.
But for the first time in either of his lives, he felt like he was truly moving forward.
Not just surviving.
Progressing.