By the time Chunma left the training yard, the settlement had fully awakened.

  The narrow paths between the crooked huts were crowded with movement. Disciples and beggars alike moved through the muddy streets carrying bowls, sacks of food, or bundles of scrap cloth gathered from the city beyond the slums. Smoke from cooking fires drifted lazily above the rooftops, and the smell of thin broth hung in the air.

  Chunma walked quietly among them.

  No one stopped him, but he could feel the occasional glance from other disciples as he passed.

  Word traveled quickly in places like this.

  The fight in the yard had not gone unnoticed.

  Two boys standing near a cooking pot fell silent as he approached.

  “That’s him,” one whispered.

  “The one who dropped those three idiots?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chunma continued walking without acknowledging them.

  He had no interest in their opinions.

  The settlement itself was exactly what he had expected from the body’s memories. Most of the huts were little more than patched wood and cloth held together by rope and rusted nails. The ground was uneven and scarred by years of use, and the air carried the constant mixture of smoke, sweat, and damp earth.

  In his previous life, cities had been filled with stone roads and towering walls.

  Here, everything felt temporary.

  Fragile.

  Chunma stopped briefly beside a small cooking fire where several disciples were waiting with wooden bowls.

  A tall man with a scar across his cheek stood beside the pot, lazily stirring the thin soup inside.

  “Line up,” the man muttered.

  The disciples shuffled forward slowly.

  Chunma watched for a moment before stepping aside again.

  The body’s memories told him the food would still be there later.

  The leader of the three boys he had fought earlier would likely be furious by now.

  And anger made people careless.

  A small voice spoke behind him.

  “Chunma?”

  Chunma turned.

  A thin boy stood a few steps away, clutching a worn cloth bag against his chest.

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  He looked younger than most of the other disciples, perhaps fifteen at most. His hair was messy, and his robe was patched in several places, but his eyes carried none of the hostility Chunma had grown used to seeing.

  Instead, there was concern.

  “You’re okay?” the boy asked.

  Chunma studied him for a moment.

  Then the memories surfaced again.

  The boy had often shared scraps of food with the original Chunma.

  He had spoken to him when others avoided him.

  The name came naturally.

  “Min,” Chunma said.

  The boy nodded quickly.

  “I heard what happened in the yard.”

  Min stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly.

  “You really knocked them down?”

  Chunma shrugged faintly.

  “They attacked.”

  Min stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.

  “That’s… not what I expected.”

  Chunma said nothing.

  Min scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

  “They’ve been messing with you for months,” he continued. “I thought you’d just run like usual.”

  The words carried no mockery.

  Only honest surprise.

  Chunma glanced toward the busy settlement around them.

  “Running was efficient,” he said.

  Min blinked.

  “That’s… one way to put it.”

  The boy hesitated before speaking again.

  “They’re not going to forget about this, you know.”

  Chunma nodded slightly.

  “That is expected.”

  Min sighed.

  “You’re weird today.”

  Chunma allowed the comment to pass without response.

  Instead he looked toward the distant edge of the settlement where the buildings of the city beyond the slums could barely be seen rising above the rooftops.

  “So this is where the Beggar Sect lives,” he murmured.

  Min followed his gaze.

  “Most of the outer disciples stay here,” he explained. “The elders live closer to the city gates.”

  Chunma nodded.

  “So the structure mirrors a military camp,” he said quietly.

  Min frowned.

  “A what?”

  Chunma glanced back at him.

  “Nothing.”

  The boy shook his head slightly.

  “You’ve been saying strange things all day.”

  Chunma did not argue.

  Instead he began walking again.

  Min hurried after him.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “To observe.”

  Min stared.

  “That’s not helpful.”

  Chunma stopped near the edge of the settlement where the ground sloped slightly downward toward a narrow stream of dirty water flowing past the huts.

  The area was quieter here.

  Few disciples bothered coming this far unless they needed water.

  Chunma stood silently for a moment, feeling the faint warmth still lingering in his chest.

  Min leaned against a nearby wooden post.

  “You’re not still thinking about that resonance thing, are you?”

  Chunma glanced at him.

  “You are not?”

  Min snorted.

  “I didn’t feel a damn thing.”

  He kicked a small stone into the mud.

  “Most of us won’t.”

  Chunma remained silent.

  Then he closed his eyes briefly.

  Min raised an eyebrow.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Breathing.”

  Min stared.

  “You were already doing that.”

  Chunma ignored him.

  He inhaled slowly.

  The world around him seemed ordinary at first.

  Then the faint sensation returned.

  Subtle.

  Quiet.

  But unmistakable.

  The golden particles were there again.

  They drifted lazily through the air, barely visible unless he focused carefully.

  Min was still talking.

  “…and those idiots are probably going to try something again tomorrow, so maybe you should—”

  He stopped suddenly.

  “Wait.”

  Min leaned closer.

  “Are you… meditating again?”

  Chunma opened one eye.

  “Yes.”

  Min scratched his head.

  “Right here?”

  Chunma looked around.

  The stream trickled quietly beside them. The settlement buzzed faintly in the distance.

  “This location is adequate.”

  Min sighed.

  “You’re definitely acting strange today.”

  Chunma closed his eye again.

  The golden particles drifted slowly through the air.

  With each breath, a few of them moved slightly closer.

  The warmth in his chest stirred again.

  Min watched him for a moment before sitting down in the dirt nearby.

  “Well,” the boy muttered, “if you’re doing weird breathing exercises, I might as well sit here too.”

  Chunma said nothing.

  The two remained there as the afternoon slowly faded.

  Above the settlement, the sky began shifting toward the orange glow of evening.

  Shadows stretched across the crooked rooftops as the sun dipped lower.

  Chunma continued breathing quietly.

  And the faint golden particles drifted slowly through the air.