THE TWELVE PATHS TO IMMORTALITY

At four twenty-three in the morning, Seoul still seemed to be holding the last secrets of the night.

A fine rain trickled down the large windows of Myeongwol, one of the city’s most prestigious restaurants. Its name meant Bright Moon, though at that hour there was no moon in the sky—only the reflection of golden lamps on empty tables and the solitary movement of a woman in the kitchen.

Sabrina tightened her apron around her waist and looked at the ingredients spread out before her: lotus root, red ginseng, dried jujube, songi mushroom, Korean pear, and black sesame. In the center of the counter rested a small dark wooden box, still closed.

During opening hours, Myeongwol’s kitchen was a noisy organism. Before dawn, however, that space belonged only to Sabrina. That was when she could think and, above all, experiment.

For six months, she had been secretly developing a menu inspired by the body’s meridians—channels through which, according to traditional Eastern medicine, vital energy flowed. Each dish would stimulate a specific meridian and restore balance to the body. But Sabrina wanted to go further: she wanted to create a menu capable of slowing aging. Perhaps even prolonging life.

The idea was personal. Hidden behind the cookbooks was a photograph of her mother, Helena. After Helena’s death, Sabrina had found a notebook filled with recipes, drawings of the human body, and notes in Portuguese, Korean, and indecipherable symbols. On the last page was a single sentence: “When the twelve paths are in harmony, time will lose its power.”

Sabrina lit the flame beneath a ceramic pot, added bone broth, seaweed, and medicinal herbs, then sliced the lotus root paper-thin.

— Lung Meridian — she murmured. — Sadness, breath, and attachment to the past.

She added pear, ginger, and pine-needle oil. The flavor opened in her chest like a window, but something was still missing. Her eyes returned to the box delivered the previous afternoon, with no sender. Inside were long, silver-edged leaves and a note: “To complete the first path.”

The veins of a leaf formed the same symbol repeated in Helena’s notebook. Sabrina placed a fragment in the broth. The golden liquid turned reddish, and a fragrant vapor rose up.

—What did I just do?

— That’s an excellent question.

A tall man, in a black overcoat and an indecipherable expression, stood at the entrance to the kitchen. He identified each ingredient and called the leaf “an herb that shouldn’t exist.”

—Who are you?

—Eric Kang.

Sabrina knew the name: the heir to the conglomerate that owned the restaurant. The newspapers said that he lived abroad or that he was seriously ill. There were even those who swore that he didn’t age.

Eric asked who had sent the herb and, looking at the hidden notebook, mentioned Helena by name. Before he could explain how he had met her, the broth began to boil on its own.

The bubbles grew quickly, although the flame remained low. The reddish liquid rose up the sides of the pan as if it were breathing. Eric staggered, put his hand to his chest and fell into Sabrina’s arms.

She managed to catch him before his head struck the floor. His weight brought her to her knees, pinning him against her body. Eric was ice-cold. His breathing, already irregular, grew so faint that Sabrina could no longer feel it against her skin.

— Eric? Can you hear me?

He didn’t respond.

Sabrina touched his neck, searching for a pulse. The beat was slow and distant, as though his heart were giving up between one beat and the next.

— I’ll call an ambulance.

As she reached for her cell phone in her apron pocket, she felt Eric’s fingers close around her wrist.

“Don’t call anyone,” he murmured.

— You can barely breathe!

— Hospital... no.

— This is non-negotiable.

She tried to free her hand, but even though he was almost unconscious, he mustered enough strength to stop her.

“The broth,” he said, with difficulty. — Give me a spoon.

Sabrina looked at the pot, still boiling without explanation.

— Have you gone crazy? We don’t even know what’s there.

— I know.

A contraction went through his body. His eyes closed, and the hand holding Sabrina lost its strength.

— Eric!

He opened his eyes again for just a moment.

— Please.

Sabrina hesitated. Everything in her training told her to call for help, move the unknown preparation away, and never allow a man on the verge of unconsciousness to swallow anything. But the pulse beneath her fingers was fading.

With one hand still supporting his head in her lap, Sabrina reached for a small spoon. She took only a small amount of broth and blew on it until the steam subsided.

— If this worsens your condition, I will take you to the hospital even if I have to drag you.

— Noted.

The voice was nothing more than a breath.

She brought the spoon to his lips. Eric drank.

For the first few seconds, nothing happened.

Then he arched his body and inhaled deeply, like someone surfacing after spending too long underwater. Color slowly returned to his face. His pulse grew stronger beneath Sabrina’s fingers, and the chill of his skin began to recede.

Sabrina still had two fingers pressed against his neck. Eric opened his eyes and found her leaning over his body, close enough for her scent to mix with the vapor of the herbs.

“Your heart is racing,” she murmured.

— Maybe it’s not the recipe.

Sabrina pulled her hand away quickly. The faint smile that appeared on his lips irritated her more than it should have—especially because he was far too handsome for a man who had nearly died on the floor of her kitchen.

— It worked — he whispered. — The first path.

Sabrina demanded answers. Eric took the bottle from the box and said it belonged to the person who killed Helena.

— My mother died because of an illness.

—That’s what they told you.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Eric headed towards the service exit. He warned Sabrina to destroy the notebook and forget about that night.

— What if I don’t want to forget?

— Then finish the menu. But when you get to the twelfth course, don’t trust anyone.

After he left, the executive chef appeared. Sabrina hid what had happened and opened the notebook again. A red line had appeared in the drawing of the Lung Meridian. Below Helena’s sentence, there was a new message: “The heir has awakened.”