The ten AM break.
Jin Tae-Yang had distributed the food.
Everyone was eating.
The river bank doing its Saturday things.
The Dragon Vein network carrying five worlds.
The new arrivals — the very strange world's students, Dareum's world's free presences — distributing through the network in ways Han-Ho was monitoring and filing.
Jeongjeong at twenty centimeters.
Dareum at thirty centimeters.
Still working.
Still approaching.
Han-Ho was eating his kimbap.
Making monitoring notes.
Filing them.
The old man was eating the soup.
The same soup.
Thirteenth consecutive Saturday.
He ate it in the same way he always ate it.
Slowly.
With complete attention.
The way the old man did everything.
After approximately eleven minutes of comfortable silence the old man put down his bowl.
Looked at Han-Ho.
"Han-Ho," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho, not looking up from the notebook.
"I want to say something."
Han-Ho looked up.
The old man was looking at the river.
Not at Han-Ho.
At the river.
At Cheongi.
At the Dragon Vein network.
At the Saturday morning.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"I have been alive for ten thousand years," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"In ten thousand years I have encountered many things that I did not expect."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"The third and fourth and fifth unexpected things changed me significantly each time."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"The eighth unexpected thing—" He paused. "The eighth unexpected thing was when I understood that cultivation was not about reaching the peak. The peak was the beginning. The tenth unexpected thing was when I understood that the beginning was not a place you arrive at. The beginning is what you practice."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"I have been practicing for ten thousand years," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"And I have not encountered anything like you in ten thousand years of practice."
Han-Ho looked at the river.
Made a note.
"You say that sometimes," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said the old man. "But I have not said this."
"Said what," said Han-Ho.
The old man looked at the river for a long time.
Ten thousand years of looking at things with complete attention.
This was that look.
"In my world," said the old man. "We have a concept. Beyond the realm system. Beyond Divine. Beyond Profound. A concept that the first martial artists described when they were trying to describe something that had no name." He paused. "They called it: the first principle."
"The first principle," said Han-Ho.
"Not the first technique. Not the first cultivator. The first principle. The principle that underlies all cultivation. The thing that all martial arts are attempts to express." The old man looked at Han-Ho. "Every technique is an attempt to touch the first principle. Every cultivator is trying to understand it. In ten thousand years no one has fully understood it."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"The fifth world," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"Its energy quality. What you described."
"Always clean, does not know it is clean because clean is what it is," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said the old man. "That is the first principle."
Han-Ho made a note.
"And you," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"Have the same quality."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"You are not trying to reach it," said the old man.
"No," said Han-Ho.
"You are not attempting to express it."
"No," said Han-Ho.
"You are not cultivating toward it."
"No," said Han-Ho.
"You just—" The old man paused. "You just clean drains."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"Because they are dirty."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
The old man was quiet for a very long time.
The river bank was very quiet.
Everyone had stopped eating.
Not obviously.
Just stopped.
Listening.
The old man said:
"In ten thousand years of martial arts. The highest realm. Profound. Absolute. The thing that no one has reached since the first heavenly demon. Every martial artist who has ever trained has been trying to reach what you simply are."
Han-Ho made a note.
Filed it.
Looked at the old man.
"The drain needed cleaning," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said the old man.
"That is all it was," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said the old man. "That is all it was. And that is the first principle."
Han-Ho looked at the river.
At the drain that needed cleaning.
At the route that continued.
He made a note.
Did not file it.
Pocket.
Twenty four notes.
He needed that third vest.
The old man went back to his soup.
Ate the last of it.
The river bank resumed its Saturday things.
Min-Seo was looking at the sky.
Oh Kyung-Soo was not making the sound adjacent to laughter.
He was not laughing.
He was sitting with the specific still quality of someone who has just heard something they have been approaching for thirty years said out loud by someone who has been approaching it for ten thousand years about someone who arrived there by cleaning drains.
Yoo Chae-Won looked at her coffee.
"I left mood boards," she said.
"We know," said Min-Seo.
"Three times now," said Yoo Chae-Won. "I have said I left mood boards three times."
"We know Yoo Chae-Won," said Min-Seo.
"Every time something significant happens."
"Yes."
"I said I left mood boards."
"Yes," said Min-Seo.
"I want to say something different this time," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"What," said Min-Seo.
Yoo Chae-Won was quiet for a moment.
"I do not have a brand for this," said Yoo Chae-Won. "I have closed forty seven deals. I have been in every room that matters. I have a one hundred percent closing rate." She looked at Han-Ho. "I do not have a brand for this."
"No," said Min-Seo.
"Because this is not a brand," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"No," said Min-Seo.
"This is just—" She looked at the bank. "This."
"Yes," said Min-Seo.
"That is the first principle," said Yoo Chae-Won quietly.
The old man, finishing his soup, made the sound.
Not the sound adjacent to laughter.
Not the genuine laugh.
Something older.
Something that ten thousand years of cultivation had been building toward.
The sound of something arriving home.
Very quiet.
Very specific.
Han-Ho heard it.
Made a note.
Old man: made a sound. Different from the adjacent laugh. Different from the genuine laugh. The sound of arriving somewhere. Filed.
He filed it.
Did not make another note.
Just sat with it for a moment.
The Saturday river bank.
Cheongi in the water.
Cheongwon in the dimensional space.
The five worlds in the network.
The first principle in the drains.
The route on Monday.
The Thursday afternoons for thirty eight more weeks.
The third vest he was going to need.
All of it exactly what it was.
At eleven forty seven AM the old man said one more thing.
Not to Han-Ho.
To Wei Junhao.
Who had been sitting next to the old man since the break.
Not speaking.
Just present.
The way Wei Junhao was present when he understood something was important and wanted to be in proximity to it.
"Wei Junhao," said the old man.
"Yes Master," said Wei Junhao.
"The traffic lights," said the old man.
"Yes Master," said Wei Junhao.
"You understand them now."
"Yes Master," said Wei Junhao.
"You understood them when you came back from Busan on the subway that you got on by accident."
Wei Junhao smiled.
The specific smile of someone who does not smile often and is smiling now.
"The subway to Busan," said Wei Junhao. "Yes Master. I understood something on the KTX coming back. About moving fast through something and feeling it pass through you."
"Yes," said the old man.
"And the traffic lights," said Wei Junhao. "Ninety nine point one percent compliance because the system works when you do. Not because you are forced to. Because you understand the system."
"Yes," said the old man.
"Hwang Chulsoo taught me that," said Wei Junhao.
"I know," said the old man.
"He went back to the martial world to explain it," said Wei Junhao.
"He did," said the old man.
"Do you think his sect understood," said Wei Junhao.
The old man was quiet.
"Some of them," said the old man. "The ones who were ready. The rest will understand later. When the Dragon Vein quality continues improving and they feel the difference. They will understand it through their cultivation before they understand it in their heads."
"The first principle," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes," said the old man.
"You just said it is what Han-Ho is," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes," said the old man.
"And Han-Ho cleaned the Dragon Vein network," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes," said the old man.
"So the Dragon Vein network carries the first principle now," said Wei Junhao. "And everyone who cultivates from it—"
"Is cultivating from the first principle," said the old man. "Yes."
Wei Junhao sat with this.
"Master," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes."
"In four years of discipleship—"
"Yes."
"You have never told me what the first principle was."
"No," said the old man.
"You always said: when you understand the work, you will understand the first principle."
"Yes," said the old man.
"I have been trying to understand the work," said Wei Junhao.
"I know," said the old man.
"For four years."
"I know," said the old man.
Wei Junhao looked at Han-Ho.
At the two vests.
At the notebook.
At the morning route notes Han-Ho was already making for Monday.
At Dareum at thirty centimeters and Jeongjeong at twenty centimeters.
At the kimbap wrapper that had gone precisely into the bin.
At Han-Ho who was not looking at any of them.
Who was just making the Monday route notes.
Because the route was Monday and the notes needed making.
Wei Junhao looked at this for a long time.
"Master," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes," said the old man.
"I think I understand the work," said Wei Junhao.
The old man looked at him.
At the disciple he had had for four years.
At the twenty two year old fourth realm martial artist who had ridden the escalator fourteen times and ended up in Busan and read Korean from a honey butter chips bag label and had been watching Han-Ho work for months.
"Yes," said the old man.
"I think you do."
Wei Junhao made a note.
Not in a notebook.
He did not have a notebook.
In his memory.
The way martial artists stored things when they needed to last.
Han-Ho looked up from his Monday route notes.
Looked at Wei Junhao.
"Wei Junhao," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said Wei Junhao.
"The honey butter chips," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said Wei Junhao.
"You are almost out," said Han-Ho.
Wei Junhao looked at the bag in his hand.
Almost empty.
"GS25 on the way back," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said Wei Junhao.
"Cho Hyun will have them."
"Yes," said Wei Junhao.
Han-Ho went back to the Monday route notes.
Wei Junhao looked at the almost-empty chips bag.
At the GS25 on the way back.
At Cho Hyun who would have them.
At the simple fact of that.
He made the note in his memory.
The one that would last.
It said: the chips are almost out. Cho Hyun will have them. The work continues. That is all. That is the first principle.