The afternoon after the demonstration, Jiho was summoned once again to Tang Meiyin's study.
She stood by the window, arms folded behind her back, her long robes fluttering faintly in the breeze. When she turned to face him, her expression was unreadable.
"Jiho," she said quietly, "you've been recognized by the sect leader himself. From now on, you'll no longer reside with the others. A separate chamber has been prepared for you. It's more... suitable for your cultivation."
Jiho froze. For a moment, he didn't speak.
Meiyin studied his face. "This is a good thing," she added. "You deserve better conditions. You're no longer just one of the test subjects—you're proof that our methods work."
He forced a nod, murmured thanks, and left.
But the unease twisted deeper in his chest.
That night, Jiho lay on his mat in the shared dormitory for what he feared would be the last time. The room was filled with soft breathing—Raka's wheezing, Min's quiet snoring, Gaon mumbling in his sleep. Sohee lay curled near the far wall, her face pale and still.
Jiho stared at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come.
When the moon had risen high, casting long silver beams through the barred window, he slipped out.
He moved like a shadow, retracing paths he had memorized, turning corners in silence. Past the training courtyard, past the storage rooms—until he heard them.
Voices. Low and grim.
He crouched behind a stack of crates, breath caught in his throat.
"…Jiho's result was beyond expectations," said one voice. "The rest, however…"
"They've outlived their usefulness," another replied. "They're weak, unstable, and don't adapt like him. It's a waste of resources to keep them."
A third voice, colder: "Orders will come soon. Dispose of the remaining four. Quietly. No need to inform them."
Jiho didn't hear the rest.
His mind roared.
Dispose of them? Raka, Gaon, Min… and Sohee?
A sharp pulse of rage surged in his chest. His hands trembled.
He wasn't close to the others—but Sohee...
The thought of her being dragged out, discarded like some failed project, made his vision blur. She had smiled at him, congratulated him, wept with joy when he succeeded. She who had asked for nothing, who had only ever offered kindness in a place starved of it.
If anything happened to her...
He didn't finish the thought.
Jiho leaned against the cold stone wall, teeth clenched.
Recognition. Privilege. A better room.
At what cost?
What kind of strength was it, if it meant leaving Sohee behind to die?
---
Jiho stumbled through the corridor, his thoughts a whirlwind. The weight of what he had just heard pressed down on him, each step heavier than the last.
Sohee... The others...
His breath came in shallow gasps as he rounded the corner toward the dormitories. But then—he froze.
A sound.
Faint. A wet cough, followed by a low groan.
He turned, eyes narrowing at the door to a chamber he was certain was supposed to be unused. Storage, maybe. Or forgotten entirely.
Quiet as a cat, Jiho crept closer, pressing his ear against the wood. Another cough—gurgling this time. Someone was inside. Bleeding.
He pushed the door open a crack.
What he saw made his blood chill.
Inside, slumped against the far wall, was a man—older, clothes torn and stained with blood, his face pale and drenched in sweat. A dark trail ran from the corner of his lips to his chin. His chest heaved shallowly, and his fingers twitched feebly.
Jiho slipped in and knelt beside him.
The man's eyes fluttered open, cloudy with pain. When he saw Jiho, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps amusement—passed through his face.
"…Not Tang," he rasped.
Jiho blinked. "What?"
"You're not one of them… not really." A bitter smile. "Just another… experiment."
Jiho hesitated, then nodded.
The man coughed again, shuddering. "I was… stealing something. A manual. Tang Sect's poison arts. Thought I was clever. But they're cleverer… trapped the damn vault with venom."
He grimaced in pain. "Irony, huh?"
Jiho stared, unsure whether to run or help.
The man's fingers moved. Slowly, he reached into his torn tunic and pulled out a small object—wrapped in oilcloth, stained at the edges with blood. A book.
"This… is the Wusheng Sutra of the Venom Path," the man wheezed. "Tang's little secret. Not supposed to exist. Too dangerous. Too… unstable."
He forced the book into Jiho's hands.
Jiho's heart pounded.
"I read enough to know…" the man gasped, "...it's not for them. It's for someone like you."
Jiho's hands trembled. "Why are you giving it to me?"
"Because I'm dead already," he whispered with a bloody grin. "And you… you're already halfway down the path."
The man's head lolled to the side. A final breath slipped from his lips.
Silence.
Jiho sat motionless in the darkness, the stolen manual heavy in his hands. His mind reeled with everything that had just unfolded.
The manual… the sect's secrets… and now, a choice.
Jiho stared at the lifeless body for what felt like minutes, the manual clutched tightly in his trembling hands.
What kind of coincidence is this…?
Just moments ago, he had been reeling—staggering from the weight of what he'd overheard. The cruel truth: that the others weren't going to be released. They were going to be disposed of. Cast aside like broken tools.
And now, this.
A dying thief, poisoned by the very sect he'd tried to rob. A secret manual—delivered into Jiho's hands not by fate, but by blood and desperation.
He stood slowly, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
It felt like the world had just cracked open—showing him a path. Not one of glory or recognition, but of rebellion. Of escape.
This was no coincidence.
This was a sign.
This is the moment.
He clenched the manual to his chest, eyes burning with conviction. He couldn't wait any longer. Whatever future the Tang Sect had planned for him, it wasn't freedom. It wasn't safety.
And he wouldn't—couldn't—leave Sohee behind.
Without another glance at the corpse, Jiho turned and slipped back into the corridor. The manual felt impossibly heavy beneath his robes, but his steps were light. Purpose drove him now. Urgency. Fire.
He crept through the sleeping compound, every shadow sharper, every creak of stone louder than before. When he reached the dormitory hall, the familiar scent of straw mats and worn linen greeted him like a bittersweet memory.
Sohee lay curled under her thin blanket, her chest rising and falling slowly.
Jiho approached, knelt beside her, and gently touched her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open, confused at first—then widened when she saw his face.
"Jiho?" she whispered.
He leaned in close, voice urgent but soft. "Sohee… wake up. I need you to trust me."
She sat up slowly, blinking. "What's going on?"
"I'll explain everything later," he said, his voice shaking with urgency and a hint of fear. "But we have to go. Now. I'm not leaving you here."
Sohee stared at him for a long second, searching his eyes. Then, without a word, she nodded and quietly pulled on her outer robe.
Together, they slipped out into the darkness—leaving behind the only place they had known for years, and stepping into a night filled with danger, with uncertainty…
…and with the first taste of freedom.