The morning sun filtered through the narrow window of the dormitory, casting pale shafts of light across the stone floor. Jiho slipped from his mat, cradling the small cloth packet he'd wrapped the night before. He glanced at the others—Raka, Gaon, and Min were still stirring, lingering in half-dreams—then turned to Sohee.
"Come with me," he whispered, voice low.
She rose, curiosity bright in her tired eyes, and followed him through the silent rows of mats. They slipped out into the compound's service corridor, where the damp stone felt warmer in the sun.
Jiho settled against a low wall, untied the cloth, and peeled it back. Inside lay the remnants of Meiyin's feast: duck glazed a honey-brown, a small tangle of jasmine rice, and a sliver of soft-boiled egg.
Sohee's breath caught. Her mouth watered, and she blinked twice as if waking from a dream. She reached out, then hesitated—her upbringing, the years of cold rations, had taught her restraint.
"This…" she whispered, voice trembling. "Where did you get this?"
Jiho held her gaze gently. "From Meiyin-ssi. She… gave it to me."
At the name, Sohee's face shifted: surprise, then something else—was it pain? Her instinct, that quiet, unspoken sense of another woman's bond with Jiho, pricked at her heart.
"Why… why you?" she asked softly, struggling for composure. "Why special treatment?"
Jiho's chest tightened at her hurt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to explain the complicated kindness of his captor-tutor.
Sohee caught herself. She brushed a hand over her eyes, then forced a bright smile. "I'm happy you get to eat well," she said, though tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.
Jiho's heart ached at her bravery. He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. "I wanted to share it with you," he said.
Wordless, he broke off a piece of duck, wrapped it in rice, and held it to her lips. Sohee closed her eyes and tasted it—the richness, the warmth—in a single, reverent bite.
She exhaled, eyes shining with gratitude. Then, with steadier hands, she accepted another morsel.
For a moment, all the poison, all the loss and fear, melted away in that simple act: two friends sharing a stolen meal under the morning light, bound by hope they hardly dared to speak.
---
The training hall was a vaulted chamber of polished stone and hanging musk-oil lanterns. At its center stood a hulking practice golem—crafted of bronze plates and sinew-reinforced cables, its joints slick with lubricant. Around the perimeter, the other four experiment survivors—Raka, Gaon, Min, and Sohee—huddled with the rest of the Tang test subjects. Even at a distance, Jiho could see their hollow eyes brighten with anticipation.
Tang Meiyin stood at the far end beside her father, Tang Wenyue, leader of the Tang Sect. His robes of midnight blue bore the crest of a coiled serpent, and his gaze was sharp as poisoned arrows.
Jiho's pulse skipped. Not only would he have to prove his strength… but before the very man whose daughter had shown him kindness.
"Jiho," Meiyin's voice rang clear, "show them the power of your… Venom-Forged Body."
A hush fell. The phrase still sounded strange in his ears—Venom-Forged Body, the name Meiyin and her father had agreed upon for his unique resilience. A body that did not merely resist poison, but thrived on it.
He stepped forward, every muscle humming. The golem's hollow eyes glowed red as it activated.
With a curt nod, Jiho dashed in. The golem swung a bronze fist. Jiho twisted under the blow, feeling the wind of it stir his hair. He delivered a palm strike to the golem's knee joint—metal screeched under the impact. The machine staggered.
Gasps echoed from the watchers.
Jiho pressed his advantage: a spinning kick to the golem's torso, each movement precise, each breath steady. The joints loosened, cables snapped, and at his final thrust the golem collapsed in a shower of sparks.
Silence… then a roar of approval. The other test subjects pounded their fists on the floor, their voices hoarse with excitement.
"Praise Meiyin-ssi! Such innovation!" someone cried."She's brilliant to harness poison this way!" shouted another.
Even Raka, Min, and Gaon exchanged awed looks, rushing forward to join in the applause—what was on their minds was the hope that with this result, they might be freed from future experiments.
Jiho bowed deeply to Meiyin and her father, chest heaving with adrenaline and nerves.
Tang Wenyue rose from his seat, his expression inscrutable. He approached Jiho, fingers poised above his wrist.
Silence again, as if the hall itself held its breath.
With a calm but firm motion, Wenyue pressed two fingers to Jiho's wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath. His dark eyes widened imperceptibly.
"A Venom-Forged Body," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "The toxins do not harm you… they temper you, make you stronger. Such a marvel has never been recorded in all of Murim."
He straightened and faced the gathered crowd. "From this day forward, let it be known that the Tang Sect's research has birthed a new path of cultivation—one where poison itself becomes the crucible of power."
Whispers broke out among the subjects. Some looked at Jiho with envy, others with awe.
Jiho's heart pounded—not just from the demonstration, but from standing before Tang Wenyue, knowing his secret bond with Meiyin remained unspoken.
As Wenyue and Meiyin discussed the implications in low tones, Jiho stepped back, hands clenched at his sides. He had survived the trial—and earned the Sect Leader's recognition—but a new weight settled on his shoulders.
Now, his path in Murim would be impossible to ignore.
Sohee walked over to Jiho with a genuine smile on her face. "Congratulations, Jiho," she said softly, her voice warm with happiness for him. Jiho returned her smile, but as he looked at her, an uncomfortable feeling began to stir in his chest.
He could tell Sohee was truly happy for him, but something about it felt off. The uneasy feeling he had wasn't because of Sohee's smile—it was because of the others, the ones who weren't in the same position as him. His mind kept wandering back to the fact that, while he had gained something, the others were growing weaker with each passing day. Sohee herself had become more fragile, her once bright energy now dimmed by the harsh toll of the experiments. Could he really be happy when she, and the others, were suffering so much?
Jiho pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to focus on the present, but the feeling of discomfort lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind. He couldn't help but think—What's the point of my success if it comes at the expense of others? What good was strength if it meant leaving behind those who mattered?
"I hope everything will be okay for all of us," Jiho thought, his smile faltering slightly. "I hope I'm just overthinking this."
But deep down, Jiho knew that his worries were not unfounded. His gut told him that something darker was coming, something that would change everything. He only wished that he was wrong—that Sohee's smile was enough to make everything feel better.