Cheonbija's words.
Were right. Every single one.
The deer of Mount Tai were fast.
But not explosively fast, the way the rabbits were.
They were *endlessly* fast.
Whenever Pung Hyeon pushed himself to the limit with the Grass-Skimming Step to close the gap, the deer would simply lengthen its stride—just enough to keep the same distance between them—and crest one ridge after another.
Even after a full quarter-hour of running flat out, the deer's breathing hadn't roughened in the slightest.
Pung Hyeon felt like his lungs were about to burst.
"Hah… hah…"
"That damn deer… does it have five sets of lungs or something…"
And on top of that, the condition Cheonbija had set was absurd.
"Don't catch it. Just pull up alongside it, run with it, and give it three light pats on the back with your palm. Then come home. And if you hurt the deer? You don't eat that day."
Not kill it. Not catch it.
Just run shoulder to shoulder with a deer sprinting at full speed, and tap it on the back—not once, but three times, like a friendly greeting.
To do that, being fast alone wasn't enough.
He had to *match* the deer's speed, *hold* that speed, and keep running without burning out.
Day one.
Pung Hyeon watched nothing but the deer's backside until his legs gave out beneath him.
Day two.
He managed to pull up near its flank, but the moment he reached out, his legs buckled and he tumbled down the slope.
Day three.
Day four.
Same result every time.
The Grass-Skimming Step was powerful for a single explosive burst.
But it was weak when that burst had to be repeated thousands of times.
Gather energy at the tips of his feet. Empty it. Gather again. Empty again.
After about a hundred cycles of that, his energy center ran dry and hit bottom.
"Hah… hah… I can't. I can't run anymore."
As Pung Hyeon slumped on the slope, gasping, Cheonbija ambled over out of nowhere.
In his hand, as always, was a steaming roasted sweet potato.
"It's not that you're running out of energy."
"…What?"
"With every single step, you're *drawing up* energy fresh."
Cheonbija took a bite of the sweet potato.
"So of course it runs dry fast. What kind of fool sprints all the way to the well every single time he needs water? *Leave the energy at your feet.* Open a thin, unbroken channel between your energy center and the tips of your toes."
The old man's voice turned serious.
"Breathe in, fill the energy center. Breathe out, let it flow through that channel. Bind your breath and your footwork into one. That is the heart method of the Cheonroe Divine Steps."
Breath and footwork as one.
Easy to say.
But regulating his breathing while running was a whole new dimension of torture for Pung Hyeon.
Focus on his breath, and his feet tangled and sent him rolling. Focus on his feet, and his lungs seized and dropped him.
He repeated that cycle for days.
Then one overcast dawn—
Pung Hyeon was chasing an old buck again.
One quarter-hour.
Two quarter-hours.
Any other day, he would have collapsed long before this.
But then.
At some point.
He realized it.
The sound of his own breathing.
Was overlapping with the rhythm of the deer's hooves.
Perfectly in time.
Breathe in, and his energy center filled. Breathe out, and his feet grew light.
Inhale, one step.
Exhale, one step.
He was no longer *drawing up* energy.
The breath was the step.
The step was the breath.
The agony that had felt like his lungs were tearing apart faded away as if it had never been, and from his energy center to the tips of his toes, a thin current began to flow without interruption—cycling through the eight meridian channels like a wheel that had learned to turn on its own.
His body grew lighter.
Endlessly lighter.
By the time he came back to himself, Pung Hyeon had already pulled up tight alongside the deer's flank.
Side by side.
Shoulder to shoulder.
The old buck flinched in surprise and cut a sideways glance at Pung Hyeon.
In those dark eyes was a look that said: *How is this human keeping up with me?*
Pung Hyeon grinned.
And then, three light pats on the deer's warm back with his open palm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Hey. You're a good runner."
"See you around."
He turned and headed back down the mountain.
For the first time, it wasn't a day he had *beaten* the deer.
It was a day he had *run alongside* it.
When he got back to the thatched cottage, Cheonbija was sitting on the wooden bench, sipping tea.
"Did you pat it?"
"I did. Dead center on its back. Very precise."
"You're finally starting to look like a proper human being."
For once, Cheonbija offered a short compliment with none of his usual rambling nonsense or sarcasm.
Pung Hyeon felt an unexpected sting behind his nose at those few words—then immediately caught himself.
Because experience had carved it into his bones: the old geezer's praise was always the opening line of something far worse.
Sure enough.
"Pung Hyeon."
Cheonbija set down his teacup.
"You run well now, and you can keep pace. That's good."
"But the most dangerous thing in the world—"
"—isn't the beast you're *chasing.*"
For the first time, something deeper moved behind the old man's eyes.
"It's the beast *chasing you.*"
"What a fugitive truly needs isn't fast legs. It's the sense to know death is coming before it arrives—to feel the blade before it flies."
Pung Hyeon found himself looking at his master with a strange feeling he couldn't name.
The old man's profile, teacup at his lips, was gazing at something beyond the mountain again.
"…Master."
The words came out before Pung Hyeon could stop them.
"Have you ever been chased?"
Cheonbija's hand stilled.
Just for a moment.
Over the teacup.
"…This master, once upon a time…"
"…was chased. Ran for his life."
That voice.
Was stripped of all its usual ease.
A voice Pung Hyeon didn't recognize.
But that was all.
Before Pung Hyeon could ask anything more, Cheonbija flashed his yellowed teeth in a grin.
"Enough talk. Get some sleep tonight."
"Since when do you tell me to sleep early?"
"Oh, I don't know. For tomorrow?"
*…What's he scheming now.*
Pung Hyeon pushed down his unease and tried to sleep.
The deer phase was done. He was confident he could keep up with just about any animal now.
Fast as a rabbit. Tireless as a deer.
What was left to fear?
And so, for the first time in a long while, Pung Hyeon sank into a deep sleep.
He had no idea how wrong he was.
That night, someone wrapped him up—blanket and all—slung him over a shoulder, and carried him without a sound into the pitch-black depths of the mountain.
And waiting for him there—
Was a tiger.
One that hadn't eaten in days.
A man-eater.
Waiting for Pung Hyeon.