Accumulating Qi (畜氣) – The Eight Brocades
It was still dark before dawn.
The air was cold and pure—perfect for circulating qi.
Before anyone else in the manor had stirred, the one hundred and twenty members of the White Dragon Unit rose as if by silent agreement.
They had trained late into the night. Their bodies should have been heavy.
Yet when one man ran out, the rest followed.
Fully dressed in martial attire, they gathered in the training yard and formed a square formation without being told. It was no longer a military drill—it was habit.
Yi-hee climbed onto the platform.
Despite the relentless training, not a single man was absent.
They knew this was different from before.
This was not punishment.
This was a chance to gain something.
Cold dew settled on their shoulders. When they touched it, it felt heavy and biting.
Yi-hee's first words cut through the dawn.
"Did you feel qi?"
The answer burst out immediately.
"Yes!"
It was not forced. Each man answered from memory, recalling the sensation from the night before.
Yi-hee watched them carefully. His expression remained stern, but inside, doubt lingered.
"Then you must accumulate it. Sixty years of accumulation makes one cycle. No one truly lives a hundred and twenty years to make two. It is not time—it is concentration. There is no secret technique. Only posture and breath. We begin with the Eight Brocades. One difference only: recall the verse you memorized last night. Eight repetitions per posture, ten cycles. Begin."
They spread out.
The Eight Brocades—an exercise so basic that even low-ranking officers dismissed it.
What could possibly come of this?
Yi-hee knew the truth: there were no better methods available to them. He could not yet make them sit in deep meditation. He had nothing more refined to offer.
This was not confidence. It was hope.
Perhaps desperation.
Crude methods were crude for a reason.
But perhaps—if combined with the mysterious power of the Compendium—something might change.
Someone might laugh and say, "Wake up."
Yet for men with no other path, earnestness was their only weapon.
This time, the White Dragon Unit did not move lazily.
They corrected their stances.
They matched breath to the mnemonic verse.
They moved with intention.
Yi-hee watched, wrestling with doubt.
Will this be enough?
Accumulating qi is the first step toward true cultivation.
Can they cross that threshold?
His gaze drifted to Sowoon.
Sowoon stood in the front row, small and slight, naturally placed there.
He lifted his arms to support the sky and drew in a deep breath.
Ordinarily he looked like a boy.
But in training, he changed.
His jaw set.
His shoulders opened.
His breath lengthened.
He looked calm. Clear.
Where Yi-hee wavered, Sowoon was steady.
After ten full cycles, sweat soaked through their clothes.
This was no empty calisthenics. They breathed deeply, sincerely.
Yi-hee then ordered them to practice the techniques they had been assigned.
There would be no detailed instruction.
Only one condition: before breakfast, complete the form and present it for inspection.
Inspection meant punishment if they failed.
Yet something had shifted overnight.
Even punishment now felt like part of cultivation.
They grouped by assigned technique and began to practice.
It was chaotic.
Angles were off.
Movements misaligned.
Connections awkward.
Sowoon moved among them.
"If the connection is unclear, follow the breathing in the verse. Even if it's not perfect, it won't be far off."
"Follow the breathing?"
"The verse includes breath. If you move with the breath, the form will connect naturally. Without breath, it's just dance. Follow the breath."
His voice was gentle.
Steady.
The older men hesitated. Embarrassment flickered.
But that embarrassment turned into resolve.
If a boy can do it, how can I fail?
They tried again.
Failed.
Tried again.
The yard filled with noise—stretching, turning, correcting.
Yi-hee raised a hand. Silence fell.
He called Sowoon forward and had everyone sit on the cold ground.
"Look. The scholar has learned the same thing you received. Only earlier. Alone. Watch and understand. Sowoon, show them."
"Yes."
Sowoon gathered his breath.
A faint bluish aura seemed to cling to his arms.
One breath—one sword phrase—one movement.
The motions flowed like water.
Something pale and blue shimmered at the tip of his blade.
Not clearly visible—
—but dangerous.
He struck, turned, cut, leapt—
Then he forgot himself.
He was no longer demonstrating.
He had entered the flow.
Breath and verse merged.
Movement followed naturally.
Yi-hee watched in silence.
That boy is already on a different path.
And at the same time—
If he runs too far ahead… can I raise the rest to follow?
Hope and worry mingled in the cold dawn air.