Ever since that incident, Myoeun and Ha Eunseol had grown distant. She spoke only when necessary, and Myoeun accepted that. It felt like things had never stood a chance to begin with. The quicker the clean break, the better. If there was even anything to clean up in the first place. Once a heart has cooled, it fades so quickly that you start to question whether it had ever truly burned. No matter how much dung you shove into it, the fire won’t reignite. “I’m going to have a look up ahead for a bit.” Letting Ha Eunseol go off alone like that had been easy. The two of them, once inseparable like prayer beads and monk’s robes, were now setting off on their own paths. Could this be called a goodbye, too? They say the mundane world is a cycle of meetings and partings. But then—how do ordinary people bear this over and over again? It seemed to Myoeun that the true Vajra heart—unbreakable, unshakable—might actually belong to those very worldly people. Ha Eunseol didn’t return quickly. Was she trying to put her feelings in order? The speculation, initially casual, turned into a gnawing anxiety as her absence lengthened. “Disciple. Wait here a moment. I’ll go find her.” Leaving Myojeong and the others behind, Myoeun headed in the direction Ha Eunseol had vanished. Just before he left, Myojeong called out to him. “I believe your judgment is right.” Myoeun didn’t answer the doe-eyed disciple. He wanted to say something to correct the boy’s misconception, but no words came. All he could offer was a hollow platitude like Just wait quietly. Ha Eunseol had gone farther than he’d expected. Her presence was nowhere to be found. Just recently, it had felt like he could find her no matter where she was in the world. Now, even desperation was starting to creep in. Had she left for good? Was she planning to live alone on the grasslands? She had yearned for freedom, but if this was how she chose to take it—wasn’t it far too cruel? Just then, he sensed her presence. Myoeun instantly activated his movement technique and flew toward her at full speed. He approached close enough to see her—only to suppress his energy at the last second. Because she wasn’t alone. Who is that? Did she arrange to meet someone? Well, it didn’t make sense that she’d reach Zhongyuan and contact only Shaolin. Maybe she had met someone new on the way. Spending too much time with monks could wear down anyone’s patience. She might’ve thought, “I can’t stand these rotting monks a second longer.” Though he knew it was wrong, Myoeun hid himself and eavesdropped on their conversation. A familiar voice reached him first. “What do you want? You’ve been following us for a while now.” “I’m not following ‘you all.’ Just you.” The man’s voice was emotionless and flat. Myoeun hadn’t seen his face, but he felt like he could already picture it—bland, like a cup of green tea left out too long. “You came from the Ice Palace, didn’t you?” “Yes. I’m from the Ice Palace.” Ha Eunseol’s reply was low but firm. The Palace Lord who had crossed the great plains alone had no reason to hide. But the man’s dry tone bore down on her nonetheless. “Hand over the Ice Crystal.” “It’s not what you think it is.” “That doesn’t matter. I’ll take something equivalent in return.” “There is no such thing.” “Then the Yin energy in your body will do.” There was no dialogue to speak of—only demand and denial. Myoeun readied himself to burst in at any moment. The only reason he hadn’t already was out of respect for Ha Eunseol. She wasn’t someone who needed protecting. But the man didn’t hold back. A massive surge of power erupted from him—black flames roared up, threatening to consume Ha Eunseol whole. Or rather, trying to. Just as Myoeun was about to move, Ha Eunseol struck first. Her palm unleashed a blast of power—her true martial art, one Myoeun had never seen before. Like an avalanche, her energy crashed against the black fire in a brilliant explosion. Ha Eunseol’s strength was enough to match the man’s flame. He had clearly underestimated her. The emotionless face cracked, surprise flickering across it. For a moment, Myoeun suspected the man had suffered internal damage. Something was off—the flow of his energy, the color of his complexion. The man murmured, retreating slightly—only to double down with even more force. The black flames deepened. Ha Eunseol’s eyes suddenly lost focus. Myoeun noticed the strange shift. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Myoeun launched himself from the ground. If it was an illusion—not martial force—and of that caliber, Ha Eunseol wouldn’t be able to resist. She’d never encountered anything like it before. At Myoeun’s sudden entrance, the man twitched an eyebrow, but that was all. It meant he had utter confidence in his own martial arts. Myoeun’s lips curled in a sharp grin. What, are you some kind of martial prodigy? Without hesitation, Myoeun rushed him. The man’s hands began to glow. If you’re a prodigy, then I’m the one who devours prodigies. Shaolin—where all martial arts were said to have begun. Myoeun, the one hailed as the greatest genius in its thousand-year history, invoked the Great Prajñā Vajra Art. The sound of sacred sutras echoed like the chanting of an enlightened monk. Light, like that of the Tathāgata, descended into the world and extinguished the evil black flames in an instant. The man’s face contorted in disbelief, while Ha Eunseol regained clarity in her trembling eyes. Myoeun pushed forward, pressing his attack. “Your black flame is a force that will throw the world into chaos. I’ll take that power from you today. Unfortunate for you—you happened to meet me!” The man fought back desperately, but Myoeun’s light had already begun to expose every shadow of his soul. Despair flickered across the man’s face as he found nowhere left to run. Strangely, in that moment, Myoeun grasped a clue to fully mastering the Great Prajñā Vajra Art. If he survived this fight, he would become the first Shaolin monk to truly master the art. Faces flashed through his mind: Master Damdeok, Myojeong, his young disciple Gongye. Myoeun’s fist sent the man stumbling back, blood spraying from his mouth. Death loomed in the man’s eyes, but disbelief still remained. Time seemed to slow for Myoeun. His vision blurred. One last strike would end it. One step away from true mastery—he stood on the brink of attaining Vajra’s soul. Suddenly, Myoeun coughed blood and was hurled backward. The man blinked in confusion. Ha Eunseol rushed toward him. Blood dripped from Myoeun’s lips—he was on the verge of qigong deviation. It was the backlash of having his technique break at the final moment. And the reason he failed... Was a single face that filled his mind at the last instant. “No... don’t tell me it was because of me...” Instead of replying, Myoeun grasped her arm and shook his head slowly. It wasn’t denial. “Don’t... feel sorry.” At his words, Eunseol began to cry. Tears streamed endlessly from her eyes, like transparent ice finally melting. The two of them had to become before they could finally be honest with each other. But her weakened heart could not hold them together. Instead, it became the beginning of a tragedy neither could undo. With that sneering remark, black fire surged at Ha Eunseol’s back. It didn’t harm her body—but it darkened her pupils into an inky black. Ha Eunseol, having lost all reason, unleashed a burst of force toward Myoeun. Myoeun barely managed to block it, but he felt his body being thrown through the air. Then—a brief moment of darkness. Myoeun’s eyes snapped open. Ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth, he looked around. The man and Ha Eunseol were gone. Myoeun leapt forward, vanishing into motion. What awaited him as he followed Eunseol— was a field strewn with the butchered corpses of Shaolin monks. At the sight of the slaughtered disciples, Myoeun faltered and lost his words. This wasn’t deliverance. You couldn’t call it enlightenment when someone’s insides had burst from Ice Palace techniques. And the one responsible for this horrifying massacre— Ha Eunseol—stood there blankly, staring at her bloodstained hands. Her expression was that of someone who had lost something fundamental— something that allowed a human being to live like a human. Myoeun realized, staring at her— that she had lost something even greater than her life. She spoke in a voice that barely sounded human. “One of them... one of them is still alive. We have to save him. But...” Ha Eunseol collapsed just as Myoeun hurled himself forward. Supporting her, he channeled his energy into her and stabilized her chaotic blood flow. Then, he searched for the survivor she had spoken of. Lying to the side, groaning faintly, was Myojeong. Myoeun, despite the carnage of the other disciples, felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he was alive. “Disciple! Are you all right? Disciple!” Though severely wounded, Myojeong had not died. His martial arts may have been weak, but perhaps luck had favored him. The heavens, it seemed, did not abandon the kind-hearted. Myoeun let out a long breath of relief and gently lifted him into his arms. “Hold on. I’ll send in my energy right away.” There was a dull crack from Myojeong’s skull as he smiled faintly. He had ruptured his own heart meridian. “Y–You... Why...? Disciple...?” Myoeun’s voice trembled. Myojeong’s face filled his vision, and from his clear, sincere eyes—eyes that had always reflected his gentle soul—blood tears flowed. “If I lived... I would have told the Abbot everything. Because a monk cannot tell lies.” Myojeong... my disciple... “I’ve always looked up to you, Sunbae.” “That’s why—I know you’re right this time, too. Aren’t you?” With those words, Myojeong breathed his last. Myoeun cried out in a grief so immense it felt like the heavens themselves had collapsed. In the depths of that endless anguish, she approached him. Myoeun turned his head sharply, cursing both himself and the fate that bound them. A voice soaked in ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ despair left his lips. “Return to the Ice Palace.” Once the truth came to light, she wouldn’t survive. Shaolin was merciful, but no sect could overlook the slaughter of its monks. Facing him, Ha Eunseol asked: Tell me just one thing.” At his firm reply, the tears that had stopped in her eyes began to fall again. “You know I can’t lie.” Her voice left no room for doubt. Ha Eunseol undid the necklace around her neck and held it out to him. A thin silver chain, inlaid with a blue gem. So she forced it into his hand. “If the day ever comes when you want to take the lie back...” Looking at her, Myoeun erased all expression from his face. Then, for the first time, he offered Ha Eunseol a true Shaolin bow. Hands joined, extended forward— a gesture that meant prayer, desperation, and sincerity. With that, Myoeun wished—truly wished— that she would leave. It was the only way she could survive. And so, Ha Eunseol left. Alone, just as she had come. Perhaps she would return to the Ice Palace and never leave again. She would spend the rest of her life inside its walled ice. Still—if she was alive, that was enough. Rising to his feet, Myoeun committed a sin that would condemn his soul to wander the Eight Hot Hells for eternity. He desecrated the corpses of his fellow monks. He erased all traces of the Ice Palace technique from their bodies— and replaced them with the marks of Shaolin martial arts. And then, somewhere in Zhongyuan far to the south, he threw away the necklace she had given him—over a towering cliff. With that, he severed every last tie to the world. He returned to Shaolin. He entered the Chamber of Repentance and confessed his sin. And chose self-immolation. As the flames consumed his body, Myoeun thought of his disciple, Myojeong. If reincarnation were real... would it ever let him forget her? Even as his consciousness dissolved, Myoeun thought— That no matter how many times his soul’s cart was emptied and emptied again through endless reincarnations, the scent of Eunseol lingering in that cart— would never, ever fade. was Myoeun’s final thought.