Chapter 2

How much time had passed?

At some point, the voices I kept hearing had begun to get on my nerves.

Old voices steeped in the passage of years. And more than one of them.

Strange.

The underworld emissary seemed to have left…

I struggled to open my eyes. A cluster of people stood gathered around me, wearing clothes that irritated me at first glance.

“Oh! I believe he’s waking up.”

“…”

Blink, blink.

As my blurred vision came into focus—

“Are you coming to your senses?”

A distinct yin-yang symbol.

I’d seen that design plenty of times before.

The people who wore caps with that tacky design on them were… Right, Wudang…

What? Wudang?!

“Ho ho, heaven has smiled upon us!”

“The Celestial Worthy has watched over him.”

A bunch of ancient Taoist bastards were smiling down at me, reeking of bad breath.

Wh-what the hell happened?

All I’d done was hold out for a little while to avoid that underworld emissary’s tricks… Could it be?

Had the bastard forced me to ascend to immortality because he couldn’t drag me away after I ate the herb of immortality?

…Bullshit. That couldn’t be it. But… for some reason, my body wouldn’t move.

No, worse than that, it hurt like hell.

It felt as though every bone in my body had shattered and every muscle had snapped.

“It’s all right. Don’t strain yourself.”

Listen, old man, straining myself isn’t the problem here.

“Tsk, tsk. Such a devoted child. Falling off a cliff while gathering medicinal herbs for his master…”

What? When? Who did what for whom?

The Taoists surrounding me were all spouting things I couldn’t make sense of.

Then.

Unfamiliar memories suddenly began unfolding in my mind like a painting.

Now what the hell is this…?

An orphan abandoned by his parents.

A gentle Taoist he’d met in the midst of a wretched life.

Such warmth… No, this is no time for that crap!

And that Taoist, gravely wounded and stripped of his martial powers by the damned Lord of Sapacheon(?).

The boy was seventeen.

He’d been wandering the treacherous reaches of Mount Wudang, gathering herbs to save the Taoist, when—

N-no, hold on. What the hell are all these memories?

Agh! My head felt as if it would split. A vast flood of memories forced its way into my mind, as though someone were cramming them in.

“Oh dear!”

As my face twisted in agony, the old Taoists hurriedly closed in around me.

“His qi channels are unstable.”

One Taoist spoke urgently as he took my pulse, and another answered.

“Come, everyone! Quickly!”

As though they’d already discussed what to do, the old Taoists each placed a hand on a different acupoint.

What are you doing…?

At that instant, immortal qi rose from their bodies in a radiant swirl of five colors, circled the room, then flowed through their hands into me.

Hummm!

Powerful energy battered the acupoints throughout my body and coursed through all Eight Extraordinary Meridians.

Uuugh.

The cool, refreshing immortal qi tore painfully through my body.

What the hell are you lunatics doing!

Pouring immortal qi into the body of Hyeokryeon Mugang, Lord of Sapacheon!

You’re trying to kill me!

That underworld emissary put you up to this! You’re trying to murder me!

The agony continued for more than four whole hours. When the immortal qi in the room finally thinned and faded away completely—

Bright smiles spread across the Taoists’ faces as they finished their round of torture(?).

“It worked! It worked!”

“What a relief. His channels are all back in their proper places now. All that remains is for his bones to knit.”

At the older Taoist’s words, the less-old Taoist nodded in satisfaction.

“The immortal qi of the Six Yang Divine Art has also settled safely into his dantian.”

What in my dantian? Six what?

“Thank you.”

“Sect Leader, my fellow martial brothers, I thank you for your boundless kindness.”

Kindness? You’re thanking them? You vicious Taoist bastards! Have you spared a single thought for the man who suffered through your damned immortal qi?

But with my body unable to move, I couldn’t even dream of resisting.

“Buddha of Infinite Life. How could we turn our backs on a child who sacrificed himself for you? All things are bound by fate.”

The old Taoist they called the sect leader, Myeonghyeon, waved a hand as though it were nothing.

“However, Sect Leader. Now that the power of our sect’s secret Six Yang Divine Art has settled within the child, why not take this opportunity to make him Myeongjin’s disciple?”

“Myeongjin’s?”

“Yes. Haven’t we been considering it for some time?”

“Hmm. We have, but wouldn’t this be unprecedented? As Myeongjin’s disciple, he would belong to the first generation, not the second…”

“Surely that, too, is the child’s good fortune and his destined bond with Wudang. And although Myeongjin has lost his martial powers, he should still raise a successor.”

After pondering for a long while, Myeonghyeon turned to Myeongjin.

“What do you think?”

“I have wished for this for a long time, but given my condition, I could not bring myself to ask. If you permit it, I will teach him with all my heart.”

“Hmm…”

Myeonghyeon looked from Myeongjin to the other elders, then nodded.

“Very well. It is a departure from custom, but if that is what everyone wishes, I give my permission for this child to become Myeongjin’s disciple.”

“Thank you for your great kindness, Sect Leader.”

Overcome with emotion, Myeongjin bowed to Myeonghyeon.

“Ho ho, good. Have you thought of a Taoist name for him?”

Myeongjin considered the question for a moment, then brightened.

“The first generation uses the character Jin, so I shall give him Mu, for ‘martial.’”

“Jinmu. A fine name.”

Myeonghyeon nodded in satisfaction, and the elders responded with bright smiles.

Jinmu.

What a revoltingly Taoist name. Just hearing it gave me the shivers.

Why did those Taoist bastards insist on creating useless generation ranks and sticking the same characters into everyone’s names?

Useless, unimaginative fuckers, the lot of them.

“Now, let us all gather and pray for ‘Jinmu’s’ recovery…”

At Myeonghyeon’s words, the Taoists joined hands and took their places around me, as though about to start a circle dance.

What are these bastards going to do now?

Hyeokryeon Mugang—no, Jinmu—lay utterly drained by the immortal qi that had settled inside him. Intense apprehension filled his clouded eyes.

“Drive out the demons of sickness. Swiftly, as the law commands!”

“Swiftly, as the law commands!”

Aaaagh! Stop! Stop! You bastards! Revered Taoists! Please!

“Grant a swift recovery. Swiftly, as the law commands!”

“Swiftly, as the law commands!”

Following Myeonghyeon’s lead, Myeongjin and the elders began chanting their incantations with solemn gravity.

Drive out the demons of sickness—banish the stray spirits and demons that had entered the body.

Grant a swift recovery—pray that the injured body would quickly heal…

Don’t. I said don’t, you fuckers!

When someone’s injured, you treat them with acupuncture and splints! Incantations? How far are you going to take this before you kill me!

With a futile, desperate protest that never escaped his lips, Jinmu’s eyes rolled back and he fainted.

---

“…”

A month.

Noticeably thinner, Jinmu stared blankly into space with hollow eyes.

Hyeokryeon Mugang, Lord of Sapacheon, who had swept through the Central Plains with unparalleled treachery and wickedness.

One of the supreme powers of the martial world, who had divided the realm three ways with the leader of the Sun and Moon Demonic Cult and the leader of the Orthodox Martial Alliance.

Supreme power, my ass…

He’d become Jinmu, a first-generation disciple of a Wudang that was falling to pieces.

Whatever that damned underworld emissary had done, he’d closed his eyes and opened them to find himself possessing the body of a dying young Taoist acolyte at Wudang, with all the boy’s memories lodged in his head.

Had he tried doing something about it? Of course he had.

He’d tried every method he knew.

Anything to escape.

For the entire month he’d lain in bed, he’d worked tirelessly to cultivate his prized Black Dragon Primordial Art and get out of this Taoist sanctuary that felt like an unending hell.

But.

That damned Six Yang Divine Art…

The immortal qi forcibly planted in his dantian scattered his internal energy every time he gathered any.

He wanted to empty his dantian and fill it anew, but with his current power, he couldn’t even make a dent.

“Haaah…”

A sigh escaped him.

He couldn’t think of a single way out.

What was he supposed to do?

How the hell was he supposed to escape this shithole?

And then.

“Jinmu.”

“Yes, Master!”

An automatic reflex.

Whenever Myeongjin, who had become his master without even asking him, called his name, he instinctively answered with perfect courtesy.

Damn this useless little acolyte’s memories.

Like the tightening headband placed on Sun Wukong, the memories lodged in his mind controlled his actions as they pleased.

Myeongjin, his master.

He remembered him as though it were yesterday.

Back when he’d torn through Haegeomji and burned down three of the Eight Palaces as he laid waste to Wudang.

The Taoist who had stood in Jinmu’s—no, Hyeokryeon Mugang’s—way and fought him to the last, defending Purple Firmament Palace.

Myeongjin had been a first-generation disciple then. Sparing his life out of admiration for his spirit had been a tremendous mistake.

I should have just killed him.

I should have uprooted every last Taoist temple on Mount Wudang.

But.

“Let’s have lunch.”

“Yes. I’ll prepare it right away, Master.”

Damn it, there he went again, answering politely against his will. With a smile all over his face, too.

Hyeokryeon Mugang, Lord of Sapacheon, once one of the supreme powers of the martial world, now possessing Jinmu’s body—

Chop, chop, chop.

Cut vegetables.

Swish, swish.

Tasted the broth he’d so skillfully simmered.

“Ahh, that’s good.”

And put his heart and soul into preparing his master’s lunch.

For fuck’s sake…

If only he could at least run away. In fact, he had run away. Several times since getting out of bed.

But these fucking memories.

They made him turn back before he even left Mount Wudang! He was too worried about his ailing master to abandon him!

He wanted to deny it, wanted to just kill him…

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Whenever he saw his master, warmth filled him. He worried about leaving him alone, and an overwhelming sense of duty welled up inside him to make sure the man ate three meals a day.

“Oh, this broth is delicious!”

“Thank you, Master.”

I’m going to lose my mind.

Seeing his master so pleased made him feel wonderful, which led straight to wondering what he should cook him for dinner. Was there no end to this fucking bullshit?

That goddamned underworld emissary.

Of all places… Wudang?

And of all bodies, a little Taoist acolyte stuffed to the brim with useless compassion.

“Jinmu.”

“Yes, Master.”

After the meal and the washing-up, Jinmu and Myeongjin sat facing each other.

“It has been some time since your body recovered. Starting today, I intend to teach you martial arts.”

Jinmu’s eyebrow twitched.

Martial arts? Wudang’s? Has this bastard finally gone mad? Some nobody wants one of the supreme powers of the martial world to learn his pathetic Taoist martial arts?

I am Hyeokryeon Mugang, supreme ruler of the unorthodox faction!

But against his wishes—

“Yes, Master.”

His outer shell lowered its head respectfully and bowed in deep gratitude for his master’s kindness.

“Ha ha, my boy. Though I regret that, with my body in this state, I can only teach you through spoken instruction.”

As regret crossed Myeongjin’s face, sorrow welled up and weighed on Jinmu’s heart.

Give it a rest, heart. Please.

“That is quite all right, Master.”

Jinmu answered politely.

“Now, starting today, I shall teach you the Six Yang Divine Art that dwells within your dantian.”

That measly Six Yang Divine Art?

He didn’t want to hear a word of it, but his ears opened of their own accord, and the cultivation formulas his master recited hammered their way into his head.

“The true teachings of Wudang begin with the Supreme Ultimate. The Supreme Ultimate is yin and yang, and within it, the Six Yang draws upon yin to bring forth the energy of utmost yang…”

“…”

Damn it. Merely listening set the energy in his dantian moving along his channels—the energy the sect leader and elders had planted there to save Jinmu’s life.

I really don’t want to learn this damned Six Yang Divine Art…

But regardless of his wishes, the accursed memories ruled his instincts, making it impossible to disobey Myeongjin.

Chungheo Hermitage stood at the foot of Five Elders Peak, farthest from Wudang’s Eight Palaces.

No one visited except an ill-mannered second-generation disciple who occasionally brought provisions.

There, his more or less compulsory training in hellish(?) Taoist martial arts began, and Jinmu’s internal energy grew with each passing day.