Yunju realized he was growing stronger.
Not stronger—clearer.
His consciousness was more stable than when it had first left his body, with fewer fluctuations, and the range of his perception was gradually expanding.
The limits of what he could sense had extended to the entire hospital room. He could distinguish the rhythm of fluid flowing through the IV tube and feel the light outside the window slowly shifting.
His mental state was indeed improving, like a stone polished over and over, its surface becoming smoother and its edges sharper.
Maybe he was about to succeed?
But his body and consciousness still had not reconnected.
A faint layer of Yin Release energy was still separated from his body by an invisible membrane.
That membrane was neither hard nor thick, nor was it opaque. It simply existed.
Like two adjacent coils, each powered and generating heat, yet never inducing a response in the other.
Yunju stopped ramming against that membrane and began observing its texture instead.
After a long time, he discovered that the membrane itself was unstable. It fluctuated along with changes in his mental state.
When his consciousness was highly focused, the membrane grew thicker and tighter. When he completely relaxed, it loosened somewhat.
He did not increase the force of his impact. Instead, he changed the way he approached it.
He began practicing relaxation.
Not giving up completely, nor stopping his thoughts, but entering a state of "not trying to go in."
He let the Yin Release energy rest against the membrane in a softer posture, like water that had given up on seeping through and merely clung to the surface, neither pushing nor crashing against it.
After maintaining that soft contact for some time, he felt his consciousness slowly sliding downward.
Not breaking through, but slipping in.
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