{“Which role is it again today?”}
Miho, who found no enjoyment in watching because Yoomyeong was only appearing as an extra, had stopped accompanying him to shoots for a while.
And today, after several days, the spirit fox was following him again.
“I’m playing a soldier participating in the Battle of Hwangsanbeol,” Yoomyeong explained.
{“Oh, a battle scene. At least I’ll have something to eat today.”}
It was a battle scene involving over a hundred extras.
Miho eagerly anticipated the dramatic and flavorful scene, commenting that the energetic remnants left behind would probably be rich and unique.
Yoomyeong smiled faintly and entered the set, leaving Miho behind.
The location was a mountain in Mungyeong, carefully chosen for its resemblance to Hwangsan’s terrain.
On a giant crane, the camera and cinematographer adjusted their positions, while lighting equipment was strategically placed to complement the flickering bonfires and torches.
“It’s dark, so watch your step, everyone!”
It was a large-scale battle scene being filmed at night.
It was easy to see why.
The darkness would help during post-production VFX (visual effects), especially when making a hundred extras appear like thousands. Brighter scenes would reveal the effects more easily.
Moreover, the budget was likely tight since the Battle of Hwangsanbeol wasn’t directly related to the film’s main theme, which was probably why they had chosen a night shoot.
Even so, the set still carried a strong sense of urgency.
Lit intermittently by the flickering bonfires, Yoomyeong wore protective gear woven with wooden plates around his chest and abdomen, while a dirty cloth covered the lower half of his face beneath his helmet.
The costume team had prepared this to prevent his face from being captured by the Steadicam.
“Actors! We’ll start with the overhead shot, so we’ll begin with the movement chart we discussed earlier. Let’s rehearse,” the assistant director announced clearly.
After several rehearsals and adjustments, filming finally began.
Miho circled the set, planning to absorb the residual energy while following the action.
But then—
“Start the main take!”
After the soldiers began running, the spirit fox reached the spot they had previously occupied and was baffled by the lack of residual energy, which was surprisingly scarce considering the intensity of the scene.
{“Why... why is this happening?”}
The same thing happened even as the spirit fox followed the soldiers’ path.
Considering the intensity of the scene—humans charging into battle, their momentum surging as they pursued a retreating enemy—the amount of residual energy was incomprehensibly low.
The spirit fox followed the soldiers in confusion. Amid the crowd, he spotted a familiar figure.
Familiar?
The figure was definitely familiar.
{“Huh?”}
Had Yoomyeong’s energy grown over the past few days?
Miho lifted a small front paw and rubbed his eyes.
Originally, the spirit fox perceived the energy emanating from humans visually, so he normally wouldn’t notice a slight increase in Yoomyeong’s energy.
And yet, for him to feel that it had grown meant the change was significant.
In just a few days, Yoomyeong’s presence had increased noticeably, while the recent scene had left behind an abnormally small amount of residual energy.
Putting those two things together—
Chill
{“No... could it be?”}
The spirit fox arrived at a shocking possibility.
Yoomyeong was absorbing the energy.
Miho could only stare in disbelief.
Absorbing energy was not something humans were capable of.
Despite his disbelief, the spirit fox soared into the sky for a clearer view.
Hovering above the forest with a panoramic view below him, Miho sharpened his vision to observe the ground.
And then—
Swoosh
Miho sensed faint streams of energy converging toward a single point.
Residual energy was usually difficult to detect, but the spirit fox’s heightened senses made it unmistakable.
And that point—there was no doubt about it.
{“What the hell? What’s going on?”}
Why was a human absorbing acting energy?
Was it because of our contract?
No, that can’t be it.
There had never been side effects like this in contracts between humans and beings from the Celestial Realm.
Could Yoomyeong be something other than fully human? Perhaps half-human and half-spirit?
No. If that were the case, their contract would never have been valid.
So were there humans capable of absorbing energy?
In fact, there were.
Individuals such as hermits or enlightened sages who sought enlightenment practiced spiritual fasting—a step toward immortality in which they abstained from grains and consumed only foods like pine needles, dates, and chestnuts—as well as Metamorphosis and Circulation, absorbing natural energy in hopes of ascending to immortality.
But none of that had anything to do with Shin Yoomyeong.
More importantly, wasn’t he absorbing acting energy? This wasn’t the kind of energy an ordinary human without special abilities could absorb.
As every hypothesis was rejected, the spirit fox grew increasingly frustrated.
This is dangerous.
If Yoomyeong absorbed enough acting energy to raise his innate presence above fifty, their contract would become meaningless.
Since a human’s total presence could never exceed one hundred, the phenomenon of —which occurred only when the presence granted by Miho exceeded Yoomyeong’s own—would become impossible.
I need to find the cause quickly.
Hovering in the air, the spirit fox trembled slightly before shooting westward.
His destination was Shenxianju, the abode of immortals in Hangzhou, China.
As he chanted a spell, the mist shrouding the famous mountain dispersed, revealing a landscape hidden from human eyes.
This place was the Half-Celestial Realm.
It was inhabited by immortals who, for various reasons, chose not to remain in the Celestial Realm and instead continued their ascetic cultivation in hopes of ascending directly to heaven.
The immortal the spirit fox had come to see was—
Growl
A giant tiger blocked his path.
The enormous beast, as large as a small hill, bared its yellow fangs at the uninvited guest.
However, once the small fox emitted a silvery glow and transformed into human form, the tiger stepped back and bowed its head.
{“It’s been a while, Suho. Have you been taking good care of Mother?”}
Grrr Rub
The tiger gently rubbed its head against the spirit fox’s shoulder.
{“You’re still a cute one. Where is Mother?”}
Growl
{“Sam-eundam? I see... she must be bathing. Go and tell her I’ve arrived, though she probably already knows.”}
With a swift motion, the great tiger vanished toward his mother’s residence.
A voice as fresh and clear as blooming rapeseed flowers tickled Miho’s ears.
The figure that appeared was a seductive woman with thin, shimmering silver hair and gracefully curved brows above captivating eyes, resembling the spirit fox himself.
The woman named Hwaho had once been nothing more than a spirit, but her incomparable beauty had enchanted even the Celestial Emperor.
She had eventually ascended to immortality.
Hye-ho, the child of Hwaho and the Celestial Emperor, was a fox born with the grace of the Celestial Emperor himself.
{“Have you been well?”}
{“I’m always here, continuously cultivating. It’s a peaceful and beautiful life, though a little boring.”}
Hwaho covered her mouth and laughed.
Every one of her movements was enchanting enough to make anyone fall in love with her, but Hye-ho remained calm and simply sipped his tea.
{“I came to ask you something.”}
{“It seems a lot of interesting things have been happening lately. Your name has been buzzing all through the talkative Celestial Realm, hasn’t it?”}
{“It’s related to that. Are there cases where humans directly absorb acting energy?”}
{“A human absorbing residual energy left behind after acting, the way you do?”}
{“That appears to be the case.”}
Hwaho fell into thought.
The idea itself was absurd.
But knowing her son would never speak carelessly, she searched through her long-lived memories and still could not recall anything like it.
{“It’s common for humans to become sages by absorbing the energy of nature. Unlike us spirits, humans do not need to accumulate much energy in order to ascend. Or they may learn sorcery to absorb another being’s energy, risking the collapse of their soul.”}
{“I know that.”}
{“But acting energy... it’s impossible to absorb such a specific type of energy without a spiritual profession.”}
Hye-ho let out a deep sigh.
If even his mother didn’t know, then this might truly be an unprecedented exception.
{“If he’s a human you’ve contracted with, then his energy must be connected to yours. Show me.”}
At Hwaho’s request, Hye-ho extended his hand.
She took it and closed her eyes, her long lashes lowering softly.
Haaa
Soft sighs escaped her lips as she examined whatever she was seeing.
After a moment, she released his hand and opened her eyes once more.
A single tear welled at the corner of her long, elegant eyes.
{“Why are you crying?”}
She gazed at him quietly before speaking.
{“What a pity. Both for that boy and for my son.”}
Hwaho nodded.
{“The answer lies in that boy’s original life.”}
{“His original life? Why?”}
{“Those fools in the Celestial Realm mishandled their work, and that is how he came into the world. With such a frail life force, he was almost crushed beneath the world’s energy.”}
Her beautiful lips uttered harsh words, revealing her contempt for the Celestial Realm.
{“I already knew that.”}
{“And he has a twin sibling. When they were young, his sibling’s identical yet stronger energy must have protected him. Even the names their grandfather gave them—Yoomyeong, meaning fame and life—are ironically insightful. Humans can sometimes be surprisingly perceptive.”}
{“I know that too. But what are you trying to say?”}
Growing impatient, Hye-ho urged his mother to continue.
{“Once he became an adult, that protective energy weakened. He should have died. But then he began acting. He struggled to escape the overwhelming energy exerted by actors, which is stronger than the energy of ordinary people.”}
{“Yes.”}
{“And then something miraculous happened. That tiny, feeble energy, in its attempt to overcome the overwhelming force pressing down on it, began absorbing traces of other energies into his body.”}
Hye-ho’s eyes widened in disbelief.
It was something that should not have been possible.
{“I find that hard to believe... But if that’s true, then why did that ability only manifest now?”}
{“His energy was extremely weak, and the circumstances were unusual, so you probably never noticed it. And in this reincarnated life, the need was not as desperate, so he only absorbed tiny amounts at a time. But now it seems to have manifested strongly again because he is deliberately making efforts similar to those in his original life.”}
Hye-ho recalled Yoomyeong’s determination to project his presence just as he had in his previous life.
{“Is something like that really possible?”}
Hwaho sighed and looked at her son with pity.
{“Human will is truly remarkable. Hye-ho, can you imagine how difficult it was? It was like an ant being stepped on by a human. But instead of running away, the ant gathered every bit of strength it had in order to endure.”}
{“But why would he do that?”}
{“Exactly. So I asked that ant, ‘Why didn’t you run away?’ Do you know what it answered?”}
{}
{“It said, ‘Because I love acting.’”}
Miho knew.
He had seen fragments of Yoomyeong’s life before.
He had thought it was foolish and naive, but he had never realized just how much pain and suffering Yoomyeong had endured every single day for fifteen years.
{“It’s understandable that you didn’t know. Even I have never seen a case like this before. A human who should have simply withered away and died, lacking even the minimum life force, survived among the most energetic humans without ever running away... it is either remarkable or foolish.”}
Then she revealed another shocking truth.
{“But the interesting thing is—”}
{“?”}
{“That foolish stubbornness saved him. You know he was ill in his original life, don’t you?”}
{“Yes. He had liver cancer...”}
{“No, it wasn’t that. The liver, which should have been filled with life force, had empty spaces because of his lack of energy. The tiny amounts of energy he absorbed while acting crudely patched those spaces together. It seems he was misdiagnosed because the organ’s shape was abnormal. I imagine the doctors said it didn’t resemble ordinary cancer.”}
The spirit fox staggered slightly in shock.
{“Does that mean he wasn’t meant to die back then?”}
{“If he had continued enduring the pain and acting, he would have survived as long as he kept acting. He possesses an incredible will... and he is a pitiable child.”}
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then Miho voiced the final question still weighing on him.
{“Even so, why did you say that I was pitiable too?”}
{“My child. You appear cold and distant on the outside, but you possess the kindest soul.”}
Hwaho quietly approached and embraced him.
{“Ah, what are you doing all of a sudden?”}
{“A mother often knows her child better than he realizes. I think I know what path you are heading toward.”}
{“What do you mean?”}
{“I pray it will not end too tragically for all of us.”}
Then she gently pushed him away.
{“Go back quickly.”}
{“?”}
{“Those scoundrels in the Celestial Realm must already be plotting something now that the situation has grown too large to conceal. At the very least, the decision should belong to you or that boy—not to them.”}
Prompted by Hwaho’s words, Hye-ho quickly rose to his feet.
{“I’ll come see you again.”}
He transformed into light and shot eastward, hoping nothing would happen before he arrived.
