Chapter 9

“Hah!”

He hadn’t managed to lift it all the way, but that alone was enough to have the desired effect.

Cheongsang stood with his mouth hanging open in disbelief, while Cheongu, who had actually done it, looked ecstatic.

They probably thought Jinmu had merely adjusted his stance.

They wouldn’t know that when Jinmu touched Cheongu’s Life Gate Point, he had quietly slipped some of his own internal energy into him.

Who was it who’d said the hand was quicker than the eye?

“Martial Uncle!”

Thwack!

“Ow!”

“All that excitement over moving one rock. You couldn’t even lift it properly.”

“…”

A little bit of swagger.

Cheongsang looked even more astonished.

“Cheongu.”

“Yes!”

“Now go catch it.”

“Catch what?”

Could someone please do something about this clueless bastard?

“…A rabbit.”

“Oh! Yes!”

Cheongu bounded into the woods with a beginner’s Cloud Ladder Leap, and Jinmu roughly pushed some dirt into the hole left by the boulder.

He didn’t spare Cheongsang so much as a glance.

The astonishment on his face had already turned to burning curiosity.

Not yet. He had to wait until the boy was desperate.

Whoever spoke first lost. Perhaps Cheongsang knew that too, because he wasn’t readily breaking the silence.

Heh heh. You little Taoist bastard. I’m miles ahead of you, boy.

At his leisure, Jinmu gathered wood and built a fire.

Crackle, crackle.

By the time the fire was burning, Cheongu had returned with a rabbit.

And then—

He deftly skewered it on a stick and set it over the flames. The smell of meat roasting golden brown spread in every direction, teasing their noses.

“Martial Uncle, I think it’s done…”

What am I supposed to do if you’re the more desperate one, Cheongu?

Ignoring the drooling Cheongu, Jinmu gazed steadily at Cheongsang.

Cheongsang whipped his head away.

The moment their eyes met, he squeezed his shut and turned aside. But the visible bob of his throat as he swallowed was almost endearing.

Good. Halfway there.

“Want some?”

“No! How could a disciple violate the Ten Precepts laid down by our predecessors?”

The brat had some backbone, unlike Cheongu. Refusing even after they’d announced that eating meat was allowed.

“Really? Hmm. How strange. Eating meat would make you much stronger, like Cheongu…”

“…”

A flicker of surprise.

Heh heh heh. That’s it. Come over to my side, little by little. My second corrupt underling.

Cheongsang never once turned his head until nothing remained of the rabbit but bones.

“Right, shall we start training?”

Once Cheongu had cleared away the rabbit’s remains and the fire so as to leave no trace—

“Hey, Cheongsang. Must be boring just standing there. Want to spar with Cheongu?”

“What?”

Cheongsang’s face stiffened, and Cheongu’s eyes went round.

“That’s impossible. Senior Brother Cheongsang is incomparably stronger than I am. He’s already learned the Flowing Cloud Sword…”

“The Flowing Cloud Sword?”

Jinmu gave Cheongsang a little smirk, then drove the point home.

“Cheongu. You’ll win.”

That was something Cheongsang simply couldn’t let pass. His face contorted as he glared at Jinmu.

Cheongu would beat him?

Even a passing dog would laugh at that.

A Taoist name at Wudang.

It carried considerable significance.

First generation, second generation, third generation—the divisions commonly used to distinguish Wudang’s disciples.

Even among those entered into the Taoist register at the same time, there was a clear distinction between those who received a Taoist name and those who did not.

Receiving a Taoist name meant belonging to the direct lineage. In other words, being qualified to learn Wudang’s advanced martial arts.

Even in Wudang’s heyday, the disciples granted Taoist names had numbered no more than a few hundred, from the leadership down through the third generation.

Now, with the sect in decline, there weren’t even a hundred.

Receiving a Taoist name meant Wudang acknowledged one’s talent and ability.

Of course, Cheongu too had received a Taoist name and belonged to the same Cheong generation as he did.

But—

Cheongu is at the very bottom of the Cheong generation. He’s only just begun to manifest formless qi, and he’s supposed to beat me, when I’ve already surpassed Sword Infusion?

Sword Infusion meant channeling qi into a sword.

It might not seem especially impressive to the first-generation disciples. But among the second-generation disciples, those who had achieved it could be counted on one’s fingers.

This went beyond something he couldn’t accept. He couldn’t even imagine it. So why did Jinmu look so certain?

Jinmu had supposedly defeated Jinheo, but Cheongu was the only one who had witnessed it.

In other words, none of Wudang’s experts had properly seen Jinmu’s abilities.

Someone who used to be Martial Grandfather Myeongjin’s acolyte.

And yet—

According to the rumors, his talent was so exceptional that he could modify Wudang’s sword arts.

Despite breaking the Ten Precepts, he had received nothing more than an order to repair the wooden stands at Haegeomji—hardly a punishment at all.

Someone acknowledged by the sect’s seniors and elders. And right before his eyes, a simple adjustment to Cheongu’s stance had made that boulder…

Cheongsang’s gaze fell on the boulder Jinmu was sitting on.

“Well? Will you do it?”

“…”

Cheongsang narrowed his eyes at Jinmu.

“Keep that up, brat, and you’ll burn a hole through my face. What? Scared? Afraid you’ll lose?”

A martial uncle a year younger than himself.

For someone who had entered a Taoist order, he spoke no differently from a street thug.

“Do I look that ridiculous to you?”

“Yeah.”

Utterly decisive.

That certainty made his back teeth grind of their own accord, and fire blazed in his eyes.

“Cheongu…”

“Has learned the Seven Stars Fist.”

Which meant he was empty-handed. Cheongu knew no sword arts yet. Rather, he hadn’t been taught any.

“You’re well aware, then.”

“Of course. I’m the best there is, and I’ve been working hard to teach him.”

“And you still want him to spar with me? I am studying the Flowing Cloud Sword.”

“So?”

“…”

Jinmu looked utterly unconcerned.

For first-generation disciples, perhaps it didn’t matter, but for second-generation disciples still at the introductory stage, which martial art they studied was crucial.

They couldn’t yet use anything beyond the arts they had learned.

In other words, no matter what, a match between Cheongu and himself would be sword against fists.

Naturally, that meant—

“Surely you don’t think holding a weapon gives you an advantage?”

“…”

“The fifth level of the Flowing Cloud Sword? Pfft!”

There was no mistaking the mockery on his face.

“I’m telling you, Cheongu will win.”

At Jinmu’s blatant contempt, Cheongsang fixed him with a fierce glare, radiating an icy chill.

Cheongu continued to look desperately uncomfortable.

“My sword won’t care who it cuts.”

My sword? Won’t care? Look at this bastard dropping the respect just because I needled him a little.

“Listen to that bluster. Anyone would think you were the strongest fighter in Wudang.”

“…”

“Are you doing this?”

“Fine!”

Snorting through his nose, Cheongsang found a suitable branch nearby and picked it up.

“Huh? What are you doing?”

“What! Is there a problem?”

As though it were obvious, Jinmu pointed at Cheongsang’s waist.

His real sword.

“Ha! You want me to use a real sword against a martial brother?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Forget it! What nonsense. The Ten Precepts strictly forbid using real swords against martial brothers.”

“The Ten Precepts again? Tsk. You’ll regret it…”

“Shut up!”

The way he bristled at every little thing really was rather cute.

“Well, fine. No changing your tune afterward.”

“Hmph!”

Jinmu smiled at Cheongsang, then called Cheongu over.

“Cheongu.”

“Yes?”

Jinmu leaned close to his ear and whispered something.

“Do this… then this. After that, like this…”

“…!”

As he listened, Cheongu blinked his narrow eyes.

“R-really?”

When Cheongu looked bewildered, Jinmu nodded calmly.

“But is that even poss—”

“This little… Hey. Do you really not trust me?”

“I trust—”

“Then do it.”

“…Yes.”

Cheongu stepped forward, his shoulders drooping.

“Cheongu.”

“Yes?”

“Do anything other than what I taught you, and you’re fucking dead.”

Jinmu kindly held his clenched fist in front of Cheongu’s eyes and gave it a gentle shake. Cheongu’s face went pale.

He’d already experienced a beating, after all.

“And if you lose, no more meat.”

“What…? Ah! Yes, sir!”

At the word “meat,” the look in Cheongu’s eyes changed.

People needed motivation. Indeed they did.

“Right, shall we begin?”

As Jinmu folded his arms with a satisfied smile, Cheongu lowered his stance and extended both fists in front of him, taking his opening position.

To Cheongsang, it was nothing special.

But—

What had Jinmu whispered to him before they began?

Cheongsang hadn’t learned the Seven Stars Fist, but everyone in the Cheong generation knew its basic sequences and lines of attack.

The essence of the Seven Stars Fist was explosive force.

At full mastery, that force alone could shatter a boulder the size of a house.

But this is a sparring match. Cheongu’s use of techniques still leaves much to be desired. And explosive force is far beyond him!

With a mocking smile, Cheongsang lightly twirled his makeshift sword and took his opening stance.

He shouldn’t have come.

Any hope that he might learn something here had already vanished.

Time to head back up.

But first, he would take this young, clueless martial uncle down a peg…

Cheongu and Cheongsang glared at one another, gathering their fighting spirit.

“Hey, what are you two doing? Are you going to fight or not?”

“…”

At the words from Jinmu, who sat with his chin propped on his hand, Cheongu moved into the Northern Dipper Steps.

Thump!

Stamping hard against the ground, Cheongu surged forward in one swift motion.

Hah!

He moved faster and better than expected.

His movements were so economical that it was hard to believe he ranked last in the Cheong generation.

They said he’d been learning from Jinmu lately. Apparently it had done him some good.

But—

The point where his advance along the Northern Dipper pattern would begin to change.

Now! Break his rhythm.

The branch in Cheongsang’s hand swept through a gentle curve, like drifting clouds.

Like a cloud passing through the mountains, it drew back slightly before extending, enveloping Cheongu’s body…

He was gone.

The attack should have begun at the Literary Curve position.

It should have.

Roll.

“…!”

He’d rolled.

Cheongu had avoided the sword strike with a forward roll and now sprang up at Cheongsang’s side.

L-Lazy Donkey Roll?

Following the roll came a basic kicking technique of the Seven Stars Fist: Dragon-Riding Retreat.

Thud!

Cheongsang hastily withdrew his extended sword. His elbow ached from blocking the foot that shot upward.

Then Cheongu rolled again.

Cheongsang hurriedly turned, but Cheongu had already rolled to the side and sprang up with a flurry of strikes.

Thud, thud, thud!

Heavy fists came at his flank, one after another.

Always on the side of his sword hand.

Clever.

With a sword in his hand, he couldn’t defend freely.

Two of the five attacks struck his side.

Cheongu’s attacks were sharper and faster than he had expected.

Ugh…!

They weren’t powerful, but they were enough to make him wince.

He had never imagined that a martial artist—no, a disciple of a prestigious sect—would use Lazy Donkey Roll.

And with Cheongu relentlessly targeting his sword-hand side, he could barely defend himself, let alone attack.

While Cheongsang floundered, Cheongu was rolling for all he was worth.

What Jinmu had whispered was how to defeat the Flowing Cloud Sword.

Cheongu. Roll.

Always to the side of his sword hand.

Roll? Out of nowhere?

But it was working!

Cheongsang, who had seemed so formidable, couldn’t do a thing.

And then—

As Cheongsang blocked Cheongu’s next rising attack, his movements grew wider.

Flustered by the unexpected assault, he put too much force into the Flowing Cloud Sword, which should have remained supple.

This was the very moment Jinmu had described.

Thump!

Having taken Cheongsang’s left flank, Cheongu planted his right foot hard against the ground and tilted his upper body.

Shoulder and back.

Iron Mountain Lean.

Bam!

Unable to withstand the impact, Cheongsang was driven back five full paces before he barely regained his balance.

“…”

At the last moment, he had just managed to twist his waist and jab his branch at the back of Cheongu’s neck. The branch had shattered, leaving only the part in his grip.

He’d lost. He had lost.

A succession of rolls had rendered the Flowing Cloud Sword’s attacks useless.

After standing stunned for a while, Cheongsang’s face twisted badly.

“I… I lo—”

Thwack!

“Agh!”

Cheongu clutched his forehead with both hands and grimaced.

“You stupid bastard!”

Jinmu was glaring at Cheongu as he rapped him on the head.