Episode 58. The Mindset of Doing Nothing
The day after I killed Daenachal.
I began my life as the new lord of the Black Cat Hall with diligence and sincerity—by doing absolutely nothing. The best thing about being the lord is that when you don’t feel like doing anything, you don’t have to.
Today, I decided not to bother my subordinates, not to threaten them, and not to issue any orders. After waking up, washing, and eating, I simply did nothing.
Wearing the black robe of the Hall Lord, I strolled to the inner courtyard with the firm determination to do nothing. The subordinates were already training under So Gunpyeong’s sharp gaze after finishing breakfast.
I ignored So Gunpyeong’s greeting, ignored the others’, and simply stood with my hands behind my back, silently observing their practice.
It was a bright, clear day. The wind blew gently, scattering unknown petals through the air.
I looked up at the few trees planted around the courtyard—beautiful blossoms of white and pink mingled together. I didn’t know their name. I knew plenty of martial arts techniques, but I could never remember the names of flowers or trees. Even the ones I saw just days ago, I’d already forget.
These courtyard blossoms were no different. I just watched them because they were beautiful.
My subordinates kept glancing at me standing beneath the flowering tree, prompting So Gunpyeong to bark, “Focus!”
“Yes!” they replied.
I, too, “focused”—on the flowers. Petals had fallen all over the ground. I walked among them, carefully avoiding stepping on any.
As the men resumed training, I wandered slowly through drifting petals. Whoever had planted such a tree here was a genius.
When the trainees began sweating, I sat cross-legged beneath the spot where petals fell the thickest and closed my eyes to meditate.
It wasn’t long, but while they strengthened their bodies, I strengthened my mind. I drew in Cheonok’s energy, opened new inner pathways, and circulated it through my body before storing it in my dantian. A few petals landed softly on my head.
By the time So Gunpyeong shouted his fourth scolding, the trainees’ screams carried real depth. Life, I thought, is unavoidably suffering.
When my meditation began to feel dull, I stopped at once and opened my eyes. The trainees were sprawled across the ground, catching their breath. It seemed quite some time had passed.
I stood and drew Heukmyoa—the Black Cat Blade. My sudden action made all eyes widen.
Holding the blade, I wandered among the swirling petals. Occasionally, I stabbed into the air between them, the strikes utterly meaningless.
But that was fine. Everything is meaningless at first.
I swung the sword in silence, dancing with the petals. Even when So Gunpyeong resumed drills, I continued. Cutting between petals, catching petals on the blade, slicing lonely petals that drifted alone.
Each petal seemed to mock me as it escaped my blade. Life, I thought again, is an endless string of failures.
I kept at it—cutting, brushing, tapping, balancing petals on the flat of the blade. When the wind rose, petals scattered wildly. I stirred the air with my swings, causing a whirling storm of color, then drew them back toward me by infusing the faintest Absorbing Star power into the blade.
The petals, drawn by the soft pull, followed the Black Cat Blade as their new leader.
Eventually, So Gunpyeong declared a rest. He and the trainees sat, watching me. I forgot both technique and cultivation, simply moving joyfully with the petals.
Once I’d grown familiar with their weight and motion, I imbued the blade with Mokgye energy and began cutting the falling blossoms.
Pink petals—cleaved in one stroke. White petals—split perfectly. With the wind’s help, I sliced patterns midair and etched characters into the cloud of petals:
One (一). Two (二). Three (三).
That was easy. Four (四)—I failed. Man (人) and Heart (心)—success. Heaven (天)—too difficult. My sword had yet to reach the sky.
I continued within my limits, then tried thrusts. Each time I aimed, the petals fluttered away alive. So light—impossible to pierce. Swords were ill-suited for this kind of contest.
After dozens of failed stabs, I sheathed my sword. So Gunpyeong called out, “Lord, catch!” and tossed me a sword of his own.
I caught and unsheathed it—a plain longsword, lighter than the Black Cat Blade.
I began stabbing again, alternating between Mokgye, Flame, and Throwing Fowl energies. After three failed attempts, I abandoned energy altogether and simply moved lightly—like a petal, like the breeze. When I thrust without thinking, the blade pierced a single falling petal at its center.
I froze mid-motion, holding the sword steady. A petal hung impaled at the tip.
When I lowered the blade and turned, every subordinate was grinning in silence. I smiled back. Success deserves applause, especially after failure.
Looking at the flowering tree that had scattered petals for me, I asked, “What kind of tree is this?”
The question was so absurd that multiple voices answered at once. “A plum tree!”
“Ah, really?” I said, nodding. “Then we’ll call it the Plum Blossom Sword Technique (Maehwa Geombeop).”
So Gunpyeong asked curiously, “Have you just created a new sword art?”
I looked around at them all. “No, it’s only a beginning. Just me playing with petals until something felt right. Martial arts are never truly complete. If you swing every day, you’ll improve little by little. Try it yourselves when the petals fall. Use swords—it suits better.”
“Would it work with blades?” So Gunpyeong asked. “I’m more used to sabers.”
“If you don’t need to thrust, sure. But this form is all about the thrust. Still, it doesn’t matter—what matters is practice.”
I stretched and asked, “Is it lunchtime yet?”
“Yes, Lord. It’s already noon.”
“Then let’s eat.”
“Food should be ready inside,” said So Gunpyeong. “Please, go ahead.”
I turned toward the hall, only to stop short. Hongshin sat on the dais, watching me all along.
“Hong, my junior.”
“Yes, elder brother.”
“Spying on my secret technique again—typical thief…” I bit back the word girl.
Hongshin said, “Plum Blossom Sword? Isn’t that too soft a name for a sword art?”
“Should I call it the Rakshasa Sword, then?”
“Plum blossoms last longer.”
“Let’s just eat.”
“You go ahead,” she said, gazing at the falling petals. “I’ll stay a bit longer.”
I glanced once at her—poised to leap into the petal storm—and went inside.
The meal was already prepared. Waiting beside the dishes was Geumhae, who had apparently spent the day watching the food instead of training.
“Didn’t even steal a glance at my sword art, eh? True to form…” The word pig almost escaped me, but seeing him made it unnecessary.
Geumhae nodded solemnly. “Please eat, elder brother. There are brand-new side dishes today.”
He had truly joined the Black Cat Hall for the cuisine.
Today, I intended to neither scold nor command anyone, so I simply sat and began to eat.
As we ate, Geumhae asked, “Is Junior Hong not eating?”
I blinked. “Since when were you her senior?”
He nodded earnestly. “Of course I am.”
“Then why’d she slap you?”
He sighed deeply. “I’ve thought much on that. Is this normal? No. In orthodox sects, such behavior would mean expulsion. But we’re underworld folk, aren’t we? In the underworld, could a junior dare slap her senior? Outrageous. I should’ve disciplined her! But then I remembered—you drained my inner power. And Hong’s cultivation runs deep. It’s… complicated.”
I nearly fell asleep mid-meal.
Had I focused solely on eating, I might’ve stayed awake. His droning was like a lullaby.
“Elder brother?” he said.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Let’s eat.”
A moment later, his earlier words resurfaced. “So basically, you like Hong, don’t you?”
He looked confused. “Were you dreaming?”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not. Who’d fancy me, a fat man?”
“What nonsense.”
“You don’t understand the heart of the overweight.”
“You’re right—I’ve never been fat.”
“Then don’t talk.”
I stared at him. “You eat well, I’ll give you that.”
He shoveled food faster. “You took my inner strength, so I need more food. Eating is surviving.”
“The invincible logic of gluttony. Impenetrable as steel.”
“Invincible logic? I haven’t even started. I’m the youngest son of the Geumsan Merchant Clan—endless funds, endless food. If I lose weight too, no man on earth could handle me. Having it all just invites jealousy. Moderation is wisdom.”
“A merchant’s youngest son, huh.”
“Yes.”
“Figures. You act like one. No wonder you got slapped.”
It hadn’t even been a full day since I’d vowed to do nothing, and here I was, berating a disciple again.
After lunch, I returned to the courtyard. Geumhae, abandoning his three-day diet before it began, followed me out.
Arms folded, I observed the scene.
“Why’s everyone going crazy?” Geumhae muttered, dazed.
The trainees had all returned from lunch and were swinging blades at falling petals. So Gunpyeong sat cross-legged beneath the heaviest bloom, dead serious. Hongshin wielded her sword with a flower tucked in her hair.
Geumhae sighed. “The whole lot’s gone mad.”
I sat on the dais, watching my joyful lunatics, and said gravely, “Good. Keep it up.”
Geumhae sat beside me. “More like the Mad Cat Hall now.”
I gazed at my subordinates and my junior, all blissfully absorbed in petal-slicing, and hummed cheerfully,
“In the fluttering blossoms, I feel the scent of plum.”
Beside me, the fat disciple clapped in rhythm, keeping time.
My subordinates danced with blades among the petals, I sang, And my plump disciple clapped along.
It was… delightful.