The Bustling Markets of the Imperial Capital
Meanwhile, So-un remained in the imperial capital.
The inn he stayed at was not the finest, yet being located in the very heart of the capital, it was far from inexpensive.
When money ran short, Jang Jimin roamed the back alleys to secure what they needed.
At times, he sought out old acquaintances, explaining their circumstances and borrowing what he could.
So-un had accomplished what he set out to do.
Yet, as though sensing something unfinished, he did not leave the capital.
As he had said, he wished to see with his own eyes whether the world would truly return to a righteous course.
The Black Blade had been dismantled, and another man now occupied the position of Chancellor.
The Empress proclaimed regency and placed the young Crown Prince upon the throne.
The faces had changed, but that alone did not guarantee a just path.
As Jin Mugwang had warned, driving out a wolf might only result in inviting a tiger.
At the same time, So-un sought to learn how to live in this world.
He deliberately accepted a modest condition and chose to resolve matters through words.
His inexperience required time.
Few truly listened when he spoke.
Even trivial matters consumed long hours, and results rarely unfolded as intended.
There were not many who would readily favor a fifteen-year-old boy determined to negotiate every matter.
Yet So-un believed this firmly: even after attaining a high realm, one must live without overturning the world's cause and consequence.
If one were to become a superhuman like Superman, what should be done first?
To soar high into the sky and display power?
So-un chose differently.
What he needed was a way to live alongside the world.
Even when he could see through others as if their insides were transparent, he had to act as though he did not.
Though strength overflowed within him, he had to lower himself as though weak.
Though he understood another's heart, he had to ask as if unaware.
He granted himself the time to learn this way of living.
To say that he could feel the flow of qi and the subtle tremors of emotion even with his eyes closed meant this:
he could discern another's inner thoughts without asking.
The pause before a change of expression, the slight falter at the end of a sentence, the momentary dimming of one's presence—these were all readable to him.
Most people pass by unaware.
So-un did not.
He sensed it. He saw it.
And thus difficulty arose.
He often found himself acknowledging what he knew to be false.
For instance, someone close might smile and say, "I'm fine."
Yet the flow of qi revealed fear, calculation, concealment.
To know this and still pretend not to was no easy matter.
To ask, "Why do you lie?" would shake the relationship.
To reply, "Thank you," required suppressing his own perception.
The weak remain peaceful because they do not perceive deceit.
The strong are unsettled because they do.
This is why it is difficult for a transcendent being to live among ordinary people.
So-un therefore had to learn.
Not to speak everything he knew.
To see through others yet prioritize the relationship.
To allow time to unfold rather than forcing truth into the open.
The "conversation" he spoke of was this attitude:
to acknowledge another's limits, to lower his own ability, and not to force the gap closed.
To wait even when knowing.
To refrain from exposing everything even when it was plainly visible.
That was the way a transcendent being might live within human society.
His breakthrough into the Realm of Transformation had come one evening after long years of focused cultivation.
In a single instant, the boundary opened, and the world beyond became clear.
But living alongside the world was another matter.
The gate to a realm might open at once; the path between people must be learned slowly.
So-un moved through the bustling markets of the imperial capital, undergoing this process.
In the eyes of merchants bargaining, in the speech of vendors calling customers, in smiles hiding calculation and gestures preserving face, he found another form of cultivation.
He learned the sword with his body.
He learned people through time.
Within the capital's clamor, he practiced lowering his strength and living among others.
Jimin regarded So-un as naïve.
Thus he remained constantly at his side.
To So-un—ignorant of worldly dealings and prone to sink deeply into others' emotions—the world was a difficult riddle.
He excelled in discipline and decisive action, yet in matters of bargaining and calculation, he lagged a step behind.
In a deep mountain retreat, it would have been easier.
But in the capital's market, words were swifter than blades, and perception outweighed strength.
There were moments when one must ask for help without revealing every reason.
In such times, Jimin's quick and shrewd judgment proved invaluable.
At the same time, So-un devoted many hours to seated meditation.
It was the process of embodying his realization.
Finding quiet space in the imperial capital was no simple matter.
So he calmed himself instead.
New insights surfaced one by one, reshaping his vision.
The world shone in a different light.
Within that light, So-un saw, felt, and breathed.
He wove martial art, people, and society together anew.
He sensed that blade and word, power and emotion, were not separate but threads of a single weave.
Amid the noise and chaos, he meditated.
As though proving that stillness is not a place but a stance.
To remain quietly apart without becoming severed from the world—
that was the essence of cultivation.
At first, he believed that one who had reached the Realm of Transformation ought to withdraw into deep nature.
Once this matter ended, he considered departing for the remote reaches of Tianshan, Sichuan, or Yunnan.
He believed that fleeing the world and dwelling afar was the righteous path of a seeker.
To avoid turmoil and dwell where daily disturbances could not ripple the heart—that seemed proper.
But if circumstances did not permit such withdrawal, then he resolved to preserve stillness precisely where he stood.