It had now been more than three weeks since Wooyun began his training, and according to Eun-woo, he was almost ready to move on to the second phase.
But before he did that, there was something he needed to do. Balancing one foot while focusing on the warmth inside his core. This would be the first step to feeling his inner qi. Wooyun does as he's told, concentrating on the warmth inside his core. He starts to sense something within him but isn't sure what it is. Eun-woo tells him to hone in on that sensation since it will be essential to the next part of his training.
Wooyun wiped the sweat from his brow, glaring at the narrow plank stretched over the pond. The wood looked intimidating, almost taunting him as if waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He glanced at Eun-woo, who stood beside him with arms crossed, exuding the calm confidence of a man who had done this a thousand times before. Without hesitation, Eun-woo stepped onto the plank and walked across with the ease of someone taking a leisurely stroll. Watching him made Wooyun want to cough up blood.
"You're next," Eun-woo said, his tone leaving no room for protest.
Suppressing a groan, Wooyun hesitantly placed one foot on the plank. It wobbled under his weight, and he nearly toppled forward. Every time he muttered a complaint, Eun-woo shot him a sharp glare, making Wooyun want to abandon training altogether and sprint home to safety—even if it was a dingy attic. But he gritted his teeth and continued, step by painstaking step.
This was only the beginning for Wooyun. Running up and down the hill with weights strapped to his legs felt even more torturous. His legs burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, and Eun-woo's effortlessly pacing ahead only fueled his frustration. But through clenched teeth and sheer will, he pushed himself forward. Eun-woo observed him with quiet scrutiny each day, and though he never openly praised him, his expression softened ever so slightly.
Then came sword training—something Wooyun had been eagerly anticipating. Finally, he'd get to wield a real weapon. Or so he thought.
Eun-woo handed him a wooden sword instead. "A thousand swings. Every day."
Wooyun's enthusiasm died instantly. "A thousand?"
"Until it becomes second nature. And don't forget your breathing."
Wooyun nearly threw the wooden sword at his head but held back, knowing the punishment for such insolence would be far worse than his current suffering. So he swung. Over and over again, muscles screaming, sweat pouring down his back. The rhythmic movements, combined with the breathing techniques Eun-woo drilled into him, gradually became more natural. But Eun-woo upped the difficulty as he thought he was getting used to the pattern.
One day, while Wooyun practiced dodging and countering, Eun-woo attacked without warning. The wooden blade whistled through the air, aiming straight for Wooyun's side. Instinct took over—he pivoted just in time, blocking the strike with surprising precision. His heart pounded as he stared at Eun-woo, who raised an eyebrow in mild approval.
Weeks passed, each day as brutal as the last. Then, something changed.
During an intense training session, Wooyun felt something stir within him. His body moved before he could think, his limbs lighter, his strikes sharper. Power coursed through his veins—warm, electrifying, unfamiliar. He had unknowingly tapped into his qi.
Eun-woo's eyes widened, the first genuine expression of surprise Wooyun had ever seen from him. He had expected this breakthrough to take at least three months, but Wooyun had done it in mere weeks.
Interesting, Eun-woo thought to himself.
"Sit." He ordered, pushed him to the ground.
Wooyun blinked. "Huh?"
"Lotus position. Now."
Still dazed, Wooyun obeyed, crossing his legs. Eun-woo crouched beside him. "Guide your qi through your meridians."
"My what?"
Eun-woo sighed. "Your energy pathways. You need to refine it."
"Oh. And how do I do that?" He asked blankly.
"By closing your eyes first and foremost," Eun-woo said, placing a firm hand over Wooyun's eyes, "and focusing on your dantian."
"What's a—"
"The energy core in your lower abdomen," Eun-woo cut in flatly as if he had anticipated the question.
Wooyun sighed but followed Eun-woo's instructions, closing his eyes and steadying his breath.
"Take slow, deep breaths and try to synchronize with your body's internal energy flow. This should allow you to absorb the Qi in your surroundings." He continued.
Wooyun nodded and concentrated on his breathing, trying to take in the energy around him inside his body. He didn't feel much at first; it felt like trying to grasp water with bare hands—intangible, slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he focused. Wooyun sat cross-legged, as Eun-woo instructed, hands resting on his knees, palms facing upward. The air around him was cold, yet its energy was alive. He could feel something lingering at the edge of his senses, but no matter how hard he reached for it, it only seemed to get further away.
He started to become frustrated, and his breathing, which was supposed to be steady, became short and uneven. His mind was restless, tangled with thoughts of giving up. Wasn't he supposed to feel something by now? A rush of power? A gust of something? Why wasn't it working? Was he just not meant for this?
Doubt started to creep in, and he slowly began to lose concentration—which didn't go unnoticed by Eun-woo.
"You're trying too hard," he said, his voice cutting through Wooyun's frustration. "Qi isn't something you force. It's something you let in."
Something you let in? What does that even mean?
Wooyun exhaled and tried again, closing his eyes again, letting his senses straight outward. This time, instead of chasing after the energy, he simply waited. He wasn't sure what he was doing and if it would even work, but he decided that doing nothing was the best policy. And slowly—ever so slowly—he felt it. A faint tingle, like a brush of breeze against his skin. After spending hours in the gym and walking out into the cold night air, he felt the same feeling, the wind touching his skin, still damp from sweat. It was that same feeling of relief, but beneath it was something deeper, something he couldn't quite grasp.
The air carrier was more than just cold; it carried life, a current that pulsed beneath the world—whatever that meant. And then suddenly, Wooyun felt pain. A sharp, stabbing pressure coiled in his chest, like something heavy was trying to force its way inside of him. His body resisted instinctively as his muscles tended. Sweat started to bead on his forehead despite the chill in the air, and Wooyun let out a muffled groan. His limbs felt like lead, and his stomach churned—the nausea creeping in.
Eun-woo noticed the sudden shift in Wooyun's body just from his reaction. One minute, he looked at peace, and the next, he looked as if he was being stabbed in the gut. "Don't fight it," he told him as he observed him closely. "Let that energy flow freely."
With great effort, Wooyun adjusted his posture, loosening his grip on his body and easing the discomfort instead of struggling against it. And then—like a dam easing open instead of bursting—the sensation shifted. The pressure inside of him spread, stretching through his veins, no longer stabbing him but filling him in instead. The tension in his body softened. The cold air no longer felt biting but crisp and refreshing instead.
For the first time, Wooyun felt connected—to the ground beneath, the sky resting above his head, and the unseen river of qi coursing through him. He opened his eyes, his breath steady for the first time since they started. Eun-woo studied him for a moment before nodding. "…Not bad."
Wooyun scoffed.
"Not bad," he says? Does he not realize how hard and not to mention scary what he just went through was?!
He shook his head, realizing that was the only compliment he was going to get from this sourpuss, but he smiled nonetheless. Ignoring the dull ache still clinging to his muscles, he propped himself up.
Whatever it was he had just done, he knew he had done it—barely, but he had. And that meant he could do it again.