Ha Eunseol glanced at Myoeun, who was clicking his tongue in disappointment, and added: “Don’t be too let down. You are the first in hundreds of years.” “It’s been around that long? The Ice Palace?” At Myoeun’s question, Ha Eunseol just smiled silently. Myoeun met her gaze head-on, refusing to look away—as if to say with his whole body that he wasn’t like other monks. But the act didn’t last long. The heat rising in his face gave him away, and Myoeun leaned back and coughed loudly. “Must be coming down with a cold.” He said it as stiffly as possible, then hurried ahead of her. As they followed Ha Eunseol toward the Ice Palace, Myoeun realized Myojeong had been right—she really had come a long way down to meet them. The journey to the Ice Palace felt endless. And it was brutally cold. The assumption that Ha Eunseol was clumsy in all things turned out to be false. Even in the biting cold that wore down the Shaolin monks, she showed no sign of discomfort. In fact, she used some kind of power to protect them from frostbite. Without her, the journey would’ve required far more preparation. Eventually, Myoeun and the monks stood before the Ice Palace. Its mystical beauty made all their hardships seem worthwhile. The sheer wonder of the Ice Crystal. The invincible warrior who guarded it—Irkin. The unique lifestyle of the Ice Palace residents, who lived without fire. Even their bathhouse was unlike anything the Shaolin monks had seen. As Ha Eunseol’s guests, they got to experience a world entirely new to them. After a short but memorable stay, they departed. On the journey back toward Zhongyuan, Ha Eunseol and Myoeun had grown visibly closer—even exchanging casual jokes. “This damn cold’s just as bad on the way back.” “No thanks. What, looking for another chance to show off?” At Myoeun’s retort, Ha Eunseol burst into laughter. Her internal energy was far more efficient against cold than that of typical martial artists. It was... warm, somehow. Even though Shaolin’s inner arts were nothing to scoff at, Ha Eunseol’s felt specifically tailored for icy climates. How is that even possible? She clearly learned some form of Ice-based technique... Even for Myoeun—a genius at dissecting martial principles—her internal art remained a mystery. Irkin had been the same, but his fighting style hardly qualified as standard martial arts. Myoeun grumbled for no real reason. “Why’d you have to pick winter, of all times? Could’ve waited till summer or something.” “Summer would’ve been its own kind of inconvenience.” “Then how about autumn?” “Autumn on the plains is way too short. Either way, you were bound to face winter eventually.” Watching Myoeun mutter Should’ve come in spring then, Ha Eunseol smiled faintly. As they traveled, it became clear that Ha Eunseol wasn’t actually shy. On the contrary, she was down-to-earth, with a surprisingly free-spirited mind. In a way, it didn’t fit at all with her supposed religious background. Then again, maybe that’s what she and Myoeun had in common... “You two are starting to resemble each other.” Startled by Myojeong’s sudden comment, Myoeun nearly jumped. “What? What are you saying?” He gave his disciple a sharp glare but immediately glanced at Ha Eunseol’s expression. She didn’t seem fazed at all. Somehow, that annoyed him even more. “Quit talking nonsense and hand me your coat. You don’t even feel the cold.” Myoeun yanked off Myojeong’s outer robe and threw it over his own shoulders. Even as he was stripped of his coat, Myojeong just looked at Myoeun with a quiet, unreadable expression. The disciple had no martial prowess to speak of, but his intuition was sharper than anyone’s. And that unsettled Myoeun. One night, on the journey back to Zhongyuan, they camped on the plains. They gathered dry cow dung scattered across the grass and used it for fuel. Though the Ice Palace didn’t use fire, Ha Eunseol didn’t dislike it. In fact, she found it fascinating. The smoke from burning dung still hadn’t grown familiar for Myoeun, but the fire burned well. He and Ha Eunseol sat together, watching the flames flicker in the wind. They were alone because the other monks kept a respectful distance from Ha Eunseol. Even Myojeong had started to avoid lingering when the two were together. It was strange. The flame kept its shape, flickering as if it would die any second—but never quite going out. Watching the orange fire dance into the air, Myoeun felt his thoughts begin to settle. He liked moments . His mind was usually too cluttered. The truth was, Myoeun absorbed far more information than the average person—he just wasn’t built to filter it easily. “When do you think it’ll go out?” Ha Eunseol asked, eyes still fixed on the flames. “Probably a while. We just lit it.” At her words, Myoeun glanced around. Maybe there was more dung nearby. In the distance, he saw something small that could’ve been a rock—or more fuel. Goat dung and horse dung worked too, apparently. Still, he was too lazy to go fetch it right away. Then Ha Eunseol spoke again. “What did you think of the Ice Palace?” “Do I even need to say it? It was great.” “Honestly, I wish I could’ve stayed longer. Especially loved that bathhouse.” Ha Eunseol smiled and tucked her face between her knees, as if relieved. Myoeun mirrored her without thinking—but her next words made him lift his head again. “The Ice Palace is flame.” “You never know when it’ll go out. Or maybe... when it’ll melt, I should say.” Her words made Myoeun think of the Ice Palace residents. They were kind, sincere—but something about them always seemed fragile. Maybe it wasn’t just the people. Maybe the entire Palace felt that way. “Is there some kind of problem with the Ice Palace?” “And if there is... would you help?” Myoeun stared at her, startled. Ha Eunseol turned her gaze from the fire to him. For a brief moment, he was grateful for the flames—thanks to the heat, his face was already red anyway. Trying to act unaffected, Myoeun asked, “How big is it? The problem.” “The problem. Is it big?” “It’s really, really big. That’s why I’m trying to go to Zhongyuan. Even then, I might not be able to solve it.” It was the first time Ha Eunseol had ever placed this kind of weight on someone else. Her eyes, which always seemed so detached, were serious now. And that made it even harder for Myoeun to answer carelessly. As he bit his lip in frustration, Ha Eunseol laughed and said it was just a joke. “So it’s true—you really can’t lie.” “But if you stay that silent, what am I supposed to do? Lying and staying quiet aren’t the same, you know.” And what finally came out of Myoeun’s mouth was pitiful—hardly worthy of someone called a genius. “It’s alright. This is between me and the Ice Palace. It’s not something someone else could fix anyway.” As she turned her gaze back to the fire, Myoeun suddenly sprang to his feet and dashed off somewhere. Thankfully, what he’d seen earlier had been cow dung. He brought it back and fed it to the flames, fanning the embers until they flared up again. The fire, on the verge of dying, clung to the new fuel like a starving soul grasping at life. Only then did Myoeun speak. “Zhongyuan is vast. In a different way than these plains.” He focused carefully on keeping the flame alive. “So whatever you’re looking for—I'm sure it’s there.” The closer they got to Zhongyuan, the warmer it grew, and the relentless wind of the plains began to settle. But it wasn’t just the weather that had changed—Myoeun’s heart had, too. Myoeun was never a monk plagued by worldly desires. No spiritual riddle had ever truly stumped him. He was someone who saw what others couldn’t, who grasped what others never would. In exchange, he was also tormented by thoughts the average person could never imagine—but he accepted that as the price of talent. Yet now? What was this? Paradoxically, Myoeun’s mind had never been clearer. The countless thoughts that had once cluttered it had all been pushed aside by a single, undeniable question. And even with his extraordinary mind, even with all the sacred truths of scripture, he couldn’t answer it. That question was Ha Eunseol. So this... this is what “Amitabha” is really for... He had always avoided using the phrase, annoyed at how often the old monks muttered it. But now, he finally understood. Even so, chanting the sacred words did nothing to improve the situation. He still found himself wanting to look at her face, walking right beside him. They’d talked about all kinds of things, yet more kept coming to mind. He wanted to know more about her. Ask the most trivial, personal questions. He even... wanted to touch her. The moment that thought crossed his mind, Myoeun snapped to attention in shock. And of course, that was exactly when he made eye contact with Myojeong. Myojeong tilted his head with quiet curiosity—then looked at Ha Eunseol, then back at Myoeun, and smiled gently like the Buddha’s silent smile. Myoeun quickly turned his face away. Myoeun had lived his life in a monastery, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what this feeling was. Admitting it, though, was another matter entirely. It wasn’t just about the taboos of being a monk. It was directly tied to the martial art he had practiced his whole life. The Great Prajñā Vajra Art—the technique he had mastered—required one to see the true nature of all things and reach the realm of enlightenment through that clarity. To do that, one had to be free from all attachment. Simply put, one had to let go. And if things continued , he wouldn’t just fail to attain mastery—he’d regress. Because right now, he was trapped in an obsession unlike anything he’d ever experienced. And the moment that tested Myoeun’s heart arrived much sooner than expected. Myoeun and Ha Eunseol walked alone across the plains. They were returning after receiving food from the nomads. The excuse was that they were gathering supplies for the other monks, but both of them knew—they wanted this time alone. Ha Eunseol suddenly stopped and turned her head. She looked away from the direction the others were in. “What do you think would happen... if we didn’t go back?” “Ice Palace Lord, are you planning to live among the nomads now?” Myoeun said it jokingly, but Ha Eunseol wasn’t laughing. “I’ve always wanted to live out on the plains. There’s nothing blocking you here.” Like... the Ice Wall? Myoeun swallowed the words. She was the Ice Palace Lord. Did she want to leave that behind? It was the first time she had addressed him like that. They had always called each other “Monk” or “Lord”—titles that kept things vague. Maybe that’s why her head was lowered. “Would you... come with me?” Her words from earlier came back to him—Silence and lies aren’t the same. And yet, once again, Myoeun couldn’t bring himself to speak. He always told himself he didn’t suit the life of a monk, but the truth was, he was one. The Shaolin Temple had fed him, raised him, since he was nothing but a squalling infant. That bond wouldn’t let go so easily. He thought of the strict but deeply trusting Head Monk. Of his disciples who looked up to him. Of the one he had practically raised himself. The constant praise calling him the genius who would lead Shaolin’s future—all of it had become chains of diamond, binding him tightly. And after ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) enduring all those inner torments, Myoeun finally reached a conclusion. A shocking one: that he could give everything up. If Ha Eunseol asked him, he could do it. He believed that. But before he could even open his mouth—Ha Eunseol looked up and spoke first. “...Actually, I was joking. I’m sorry.” Her expression as she turned to walk away was sad—but unreachable, like something holy. Myoeun couldn’t bring himself to stop her. All he could do was watch her walk ahead, eyes stinging—not from the wind.